Protège Moi
by Quietly-Confident
Summary: Passion, possession, protection and love. A balance of elements is the recipe for true love. Eventual Fang x Light. F/F, suggestive themes, crime, mystery, drama. Re-Upload.
1. protège moi

_A/N_

_Re-upload._

_Disclaimer: I don't own FFXIII or any of its constituents._

_i. placebo - p__rotège-moi_

_The sight of a dead loved one never leaves you; that pallid, ghostly hue that cloaks their flesh and robs you of your recognition; the coolness of their skin so relaxed underneath your most trepid of touches; the stillness...oh, fal'cie...the stillness. It's so quiet that I can hear my thoughts touch each passing moment that beats alone without your breath; acute is my awareness of that absence, like the angles of your face, now pulled so tightly: inhuman, and sharp as a knife. Something sticks in my throat, rubs raw the supple sinews there, and threatens to escape unbidden and unwanted. It burns there, growing and glowing...oh, how it burns there._

_Composed (of course), I swallow it down, I _drown_ it; that guilt, my helplessness...I digest these poisons. Why? Because I must. Because of my responsibilities. Because it's not a question of can or can't. There are some things in life that you just do. _

_And yet, the memory lingers and sticks to my skin: indelible, unshakable, impenetrable is the memory. It won't leave me and I won't leave it. Bound to me, bound in me, so out of bounds...all of this. _

_Those sunken features haunt me still and in my dreams, and only there, I run to escape them. My heart pounds, my blood bangs and my eyes...they well and betray the fortitude I fight to feign. Only when I dare to rest... Only then does the emptiness take shape._

_I wake to wonder where my wanderings have brought me. I am me but I am not myself. I wonder if you would recognise me now, through a haze of times recalled - where I have left nothing but a shadow; from across that void, bleak and dark and cold and amidst the storm...the only place where you might find me. Yes, amongst the sound and storm...where you might find me..._

_Lightning.I_

* * *

><p>A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she tapped the shut down sequence of her car's engine and reclined back in the driver's seat. The tight knot of muscles at the base of her neck relaxed to her touch as she kneaded at them with stiff fingers, grateful for the moment's respite. Another double-shift was taking its toll – on her limbs, on her spirit – she grimaced noticing the dried blood on her upper arm and winced at the flash of a memory. Alert though she was, she knew it was unhealthy to maintain this level of activity. Rest was needed, even on a night like this; a night in which she had made fastidious efforts to seclude herself – one on which she wanted to be alone.<p>

She was thankful Serah and Snow would be away; they would want to celebrate – to drag her to every clone-copy bar that each in turn surmounted their banality in only their pretention. They would urge her to "loosen up" and "have some fun", all the while pressing drinks into her hand to affect the desired deportment. How she despised the social conventions she found herself bound by; how they made her _raw_ with irritation.

A moment later and she had opened the car door and stood from the seat, swinging the metal shut behind her and locking it with her infra-red remote. There was clamminess in the wind as it sighed softly through the trees; it carried with it specks of moisture that felt refreshing on her face as she trudged towards the front door of her family home and dug out her keys from one of her pockets.

Unlocking the door, she pushed it open, feeling the rush of the apartment's stale air breeze across her face and ventured forth into her home, flipping the light switch casually as she closed the door behind her.

She paused. The light wasn't working. A quick inspection of the fixture showed that the bulb had not blown, but was in fact missing. The soldier scowled, a heightened sense of foreboding ringing in her ears as she crept forward into the lounge, the deft fingers of her right hand wrapped around the hilt of her weapon in preparation.

She halted her advance because she knew she was not alone.

Suddenly, a flash of movement - over there, everywhere.

"Surprise!" they suddenly cheered in unison, leaping up from behind the furniture with beaming, earnest smiles: smiles that swiftly disappeared as the seasoned soldier spun around and in the same smooth motion, levelled her gunblade at one of the sources of noise. There was a skin-shuddering crack as a shot rang out clearly, boring through the thickening suspense.

A beat of silence passed as the entire company stood around frozen to the spot, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Against the far wall, the victim of an unceremonious attack, Sazh was pinned by Lightning's piercing scowl. His glassy ebony eyes shimmered ever so slightly before slowly panning to his right and up, regarding the freshly created hollow that smoked so serenely in the dimly lit room; tendrils of wispy white escaped the crater that had so nearly been his head and floated leisurely above their heads. Surprise, indeed.

"Damnit, Lightning!" Snow cursed loudly, slowly lowering the arm that he had instinctually raised to guard his face. Breaths of relief were released around the room as the soldier's posture relaxed: her shoulders dropping as she collapsed her gunblade and swung it effortlessly back into its sheath dangling behind her. Ice-blue eyes swept the expanse of the room, confirming that no one was injured, before she strode across the floor and offered a hand to haul the shaken man to his feet. She hoped that Sazh had noticed the flicker of an apology in her eyes as he took her hand, but offered no further fortification of the sentiment before turning her back to him and folding her arms across her chest. She wanted so badly not to be perturbed by their ill-conceived ploy; to appreciate the thoughtfulness and effort expended for her sake... but those feelings were awash by a rising tide of stormy resentment.

"What are you all doing here?" she asked finally, having chosen an impassive tone, despite her inner turmoil.

"Y'mean besides gettin' shot at?" Sazh sniped as he rubbed at the back of his head, his chocobo chick making a fleeting appearance, squealing its sentiments - presumably disgruntled.

Lightning chose not to acknowledge the sarcastic reply.

"We...wanted to surprise you," Vanille ventured hesitantly, stepping out from behind an arm chair and sounding contrite. "...for your birthday," she added, gesturing lamely to the sizeable cake that was lit ethereally by a single candlelight in the hands of the Serah. How had she missed that?

The soldier followed the Oerban's eyesight, glancing from the cake to her younger sibling who was glowering at her in the darkness, wild light licking at the contours of her face.

"You said you'd be gone for a week," Lightning stated simply, walking over to her sister and stopping just short of her to lick her forefinger and thumb before swiftly pinching the wick and extinguishing the flame. "That's what you said," she reiterated, accusing this time.

Serah rolled her eyes, sighing as she breezed past Lightning who turned with her, watching as she placed the cake on the coffee table. She quickly straightened and turned to face the soldier.

"We wanted to do something nice for you, Claire. _So_ sorry you disapprove." The younger Farron mirrored her sister's defensive posture, folding her arms neatly across her chest and levelling at her an unimpressed glare.

Lightning couldn't help but feel those five pairs of eyes boring into her from all angles as she stood facing Serah; all this attention directed at her, because of this stupid date...it was utterly ridiculous. Obscene. She had never hidden her disdain for such surprises – she had made no secret of the fact she found these displays contrived and wholly unnecessary; why then would her sister inflict this upon her? Serah had never been sadistic.

Silence stretched out between the siblings as neither prepared to concede any ground. The soldier was vaguely aware of Snow shifting around awkwardly in her peripheral vision - predictably uncomfortable with a situation involving no vacuous heroics.

"Thanks," Lightning said quietly, relenting to the peer pressure, but not by much: "but I have to work tomorrow." Solitary were her footsteps against the wooden floor as she began to leave without another word, ever conscious of the unwanted attention trailing her from the room. She heard Vanille grumble quietly as she rounded the corner, out of sight, and made to pass by the front door to get to her bedroom when it suddenly flew open, nearly striking her in its trajectory.

"I'm here!" gasped a voice, unmistakeable in its Pulsian lilt. "Did I miss it?" the voice continued, urgent in its tone, as a tanned body emerged from the doorway, hair - wild, eyes - electric. "I brought the fairy lights and blow up—"

Lightning arched a neatly plucked brow at Fang's intriguing opener, cutting short the Pulsian's revelation as their eyes met.

"—Lightning!" she finished clumsily, a diffident smile playing across her lips as she attempted to conceal something behind her back, poorly. "You're here!" she noted as the door clicked shut beside them.

"Yes."

"Home early, huh?"

"Yes."

"Nice..." Fang smiled and nodded, rocking her weight onto her toes and back.

Curious as she was, Lightning thought it best not to inquire as to her blow-up anything and attempted to sidle past the woman obstructing the hallway with her unusual bounty.

"Woah woah woah, where you goin', Sunshine?" Fang asked, stepping directly before the soldier to block her path. "It's party time!"

Lightning said nothing, her darkening expression saying it all for her as she lifted her narrowed eyes.

"Uhh...you know...drinking, dancing...fun?" Fang asked, sounding progressively uncertain as each suggestion seemed to incense the birthday girl even further.

"Knock yourself out," Lightning suggested acerbically as she shouldered past the Pulsian and continued to her room at the far end of the hall, leaving the lounge to the mercy of the revellers.

* * *

><p>She had been aware of Fang standing in the doorway to her room for a couple of minutes now, watching the sleek movements of her hands over her blade that seemed to captivate her so. She could tell by the lull in shenanigans that the party was over, although it wasn't terribly late. Sazh had been the first to falter and was made to suffer numerous jibes about old age on his departure. Vanille had passed out peaceably in the corner with Serah not long after, leaving Snow and Fang to merrily match each other shot for shot until the booze ran out.<p>

When it must have become clear to the huntress that the soldier would not acknowledge her, she took it upon herself to initiate the conversation.

"That Snow," she said with a suppressed laugh, smiling in the direction of the room he and Serah had disappeared into shortly before. "He really knows how t'knock 'em back, y'know?"

There was a slight slur to her speech that explained the woman's lingering presence at her bedroom door. She was drunk. Lightning was unsure why she felt an irrational pang of indignation at the thought, but remained silent on the matter, her focussed eyes trained on her task in hand.

"Yeah..." the Pulsian accent drawled. "Guess not." Another moment of quiet passed before Fang expelled a lungful of air and swung her arms idly by her sides, searching the plainly painted walls for some inspiration.

"Got somethin' against colour?" she asked, dipping her head in the direction of the opposite wall.

Lightning frowned into her blade at the insinuation, and began scrubbing away furiously, determined to ignore the probing Pulsian who seemed intent on staying. She heard her chuckle from the doorway; it was so light and carefree – not at all like Snow's uproarious guffaws. It made the soldier wonder what she found so funny – wonder what so cheerful a soul was wanting from a stoic like her.

"Do Oerbans have no understanding of the concept of privacy?" Lightning finally asked crisply, not bothering to countenance the other woman's presence directly. Instead she elected to glower at her distant form's reflection in the mirror that she faced, searching that exotic face for an explanation more attainable.

"Hmm..." Fang hummed, leaning casually on the wooden door frame with her taut arms folded across her chest and making a show of looking thoughtful. "Naw, guess not," she replied breezily, shrugging as best as she could in that position. She could have taken the sergeant's iciness as an insult – Maker knew she was a proud Pulsian, touchy about her heritage – but in that moment she was quietly thankful for the soldier's acknowledgement. Fang's eyes seemed to focus on something distant and indistinct when she said, "there were no secrets in Oerba...everyone was always up in each other's business." She paused to push herself upright with her shoulder and unthinkingly took a step across the room's boundary. "All one big happy family I guess!"

The Oerban smiled briefly before glancing at Lightning's reflection, catching sight of a pair of eyes that appeared so hollow in the gloom of the room. The elder Farron watched the huntress' features slacken and sink. She was frowning – why? She had no answer; none she could fathom.

"Was nothin' like up here," Fang continued, tearing her attention from the pull of those empty orbs and paced casually around the room, stopping to observe the laden bookshelves that almost groaned with the weight of numerous hardback texts. She watched her run an intrepid hand over the antique works she had collected, suddenly feeling self-conscious noticing the ghost of a smirk that played across Fang's lips. What was she thinking that amused her so? She watched her expression intently, _intensely_, noticed how her mouth twitched at one side and how her eyes narrowed slightly. She wanted to know what the Pulsian was thinking; wanted to know what it was that was making her think it.

"Everyone's so..._closed,_" Fang said, lifting her hand from the books and directing a probing stare at the soldier who was now facing her directly, brows still knitted together above the bridge of her nose, but not in irritation anymore; in something else. Lightning knew full well that when Fang said "everyone" she was referring only to her. What she didn't understand was why the fact seemed to bother the huntress.

Fang appeared confused when she glanced at the soldier and quickly returned her attention to the books; the way her gaze had flickered away seemed almost bashful in nature and left Lightning wondering if the woman was feeling uncomfortable under her fierce regard. Puzzled though she was by Fang's behaviour, there was something oddly calming about her presence; something impressive in the way that she had clandestinely slipped into her personal space, almost as if she felt she had a right to be there. The soldier considered making further inquiries as to the Pulsian's interest here, but was mindful of a sneaking suspicion that whispered that that was exactly what Fang was wanting. There was a sort of sadistic thrill in denying her that - in _frustrating_ her.

Lighting returned to work on her blade, her straight back turned to the huntress who was now taking furtive steps towards the soldier, intrigued by her busy hands. When she reached her side at the table Lightning was working at, she turned her back to the wall and leaned against it leisurely, watching a sheen of sweat build on the soldier's bare shoulders.

"I think it's dead now," the Pulsian teased with a nod and the slightest of shrugs to her shoulders.

There was an almost imperceptive stint in Lightning's movements as she lowered her head, hiding a faint smile under the fall of her bangs.

"You wanna talk about it?" Fang asked a moment later, crossing her legs at the ankles.

The soldier paused. "About what?" she replied quietly.

"Whatever's made you wanna hide in here all night. It's your _birthday_, Light. Come on..."

"It's nothing. I'm just tired – it was a long week." Movement again.

"Uh huh." Unconvinced. "That'll be what's got you scowlin' like you're ready to kill someone, is it?"

Another pause, and this time, a wince. After a moment of stillness, Lightning placed her tools on the table before her and rubbed unconsciously at her upper left arm. She had long since washed away the sanguine smear but she still felt it there, sticking to her, _staining_ her. The kid had just been in the wrong place at the right time; the right size to be obliterated by the wrong...

She felt her head hang heavy from her shoulders and shut her eyes to escape the memory.

"Lightning?"

No response.

"Hey Light, y'okay?"

_Too soon, too soon_. She eased open her eyes and lifted them to regard Fang. The Pulsian had moved closer, leaning her weight on her forearms on the table; her tribal necklaces trailed across the wood noisily. She was frowning and staring at the soldier with some concern. Lightning could smell the vestiges of her intoxication on each breath that fell across her face; warm, bitter and at the same time sweet, each feathery touch stirred an uneasy temptation that the sergeant kept stowed beneath a facade of coolness and indifference. _Why did she have to look at her like that?_

"Y'know," Fang said quietly, watching the soldier closely; "sometimes I look at you and...and I wonder what the hell it is that you're thinkin' that can make those baby blues seem so...intense." Her malachite orbs darted about in their almond-shaped sockets, as if lost in a frustrating search of the stormy-sea blue they viewed. Lightning broke contact first, lowering her gaze to the huntress's moist lips, watching them form the words that came forth.

"I know things are kinda rough right now, what with work ridin' you hard and the weddin' and all that..." She listened absently, finding the woman's pandering distasteful and ever so slightly insulting. "...I know you're gonna be lonely without Serah about", she continued, sallying forth into dangerous territory, impressively oblivious to Lightning's darkening expression and her repulsion of the chosen topic. "But, well, me and Vanille are just a call away, y'know? If you need anything, even just a chit-chat."

Lightning struggled to swallow her indignation. Did she really seem that pathetic? That _weak_. How embarrassing. Especially to someone like Fang who she...whom she'd hoped would have seen her in a better light. Was it her clemency of Fang's intrusion that had given her this impression? Like she was some sort of moody teenager, locked away in her room and crying out for attention. She felt her face flush in ire at the very thought, the flames fanned by the continuation of Fang's oh so perceptive insights. Surely it was the alcohol talking. "I know what it's like, to feel like you got no one, Light. It ain't easy by any stretch. I know you feel responsible for your sis and are worryin' about bonehead treatin' her right but—"

"Fang," Farron interrupted. Enough was enough. "You can stay in my home" she muttered darkly, lifting her gaze from the Pulsian's lips to her beautiful, lost eyes. "But stay outta my head."

With that, the soldier stood, signalling to Fang that the conversation was over. The huntress straightened slowly, still regarding Lightning with that same bewildered expression. She nodded absently as she breezed past the sergeant, muttering sheepishly something about sleeping off the booze and seeing her in the morning.


	2. bullets

_ii. Archive - Bullets_

_At night, I dream of turning into a wolf; that I have that ability to change. Odd, I know – I have no particular affinity to the beast and these days, I rarely encounter them on patrol. But such as it is, I find it plaguing my unconscious state. It recurs, succours, devours me whole...bending bones and ripping skin; I cannot tear my eyes away. I disappear._

_At first, I thought nothing of it – a dream is just a dream, right?_

_But then you started to appear._

_Feral, wild, your purest form – you started to appear. And with you came the colours of red and gold, the smell of dry earth and the taste of tear stains and iron. _

_The sunlight dazzles me, blinds me to your approach... and too soon it's too late._

_Nothing is left of me...each time that I see you._

The soft thud of the front door closing was enough to rouse Lightning from her shallow slumber. She had never been a deep sleeper - not even as a teenager - and although the heightened awareness made unconsciousness a challenge, she felt happiest knowing that the quirk would likely shave valuable seconds from her reaction time in emergencies; she could always be on guard: prepared.

Prepared was a good way to describe Lightning. Very few situations could genuinely surprise her, because she had simply envisaged and planned for most eventualities before facing down a challenge; when she took the time to consider it, she had even prepared, mentally, for her parents' deaths. Lightning had not cried when she whispered her last goodbyes - fragile words that would forever likely go unheard; she wouldn't allow her eyes to betray her at the funeral services either. She had merely held Serah's hand, all the way through it, vaguely aware of her sister's glistening eyes staring up at her in awe, like she were some mythical hero from the books that she had once read to her.

Prepared. This was Lightning. And those around her knew it well.

She rubbed a cool hand over her warm face and craned her neck to scowl at the clock by her bedside. It had just left six-thirty. It wasn't immediately apparent which of last night's merrymakers had taken their leave at so early an hour – Lightning _was_ a little curious since all of the drivers were sure to still be over the legal limit - they had clearly been three sheets to the wind judging by the racket from the lounge. Hell, she had _smelled_ the intoxication on Fang.

Fang. Brazen, beautiful, _oblivious_ Fang. Too often did the image of the Pulsian huntress slither through her mind. Morning, noon, night, it didn't seem to really matter, though it was at times like this, when the day was young, that Lightning found the stillness focus her thoughts. Like a seething shadow, dripping from her skin, Fang would always appear when the light was brightest. Chaste contemplation had long been corrupted when it came to _this_ woman. That wildness Fang exuded so naturally, so effortlessly was slowly and secretly teasing from the soldier vices that were never to be exposed. She felt it pushing and pulling within her; underneath her skin, where there lay a violence with a gun in its hand, so ready to make sense of anyone, or anything – to rip into her penchant, and fill her with a poisonous devotion.

Farron glanced at the clock again, six-thirty-four, and decided to get up and shower. Her disciplined morning routine had never faltered, not even through those "difficult" years of adjustment, and therefore knew that she would have ten minutes to spare afforded by her early rise.

Having dressed, she left her room and began striding down the darkened hallway; Lightning always walked with purpose, like she always knew where she was going - even if she didn't. Her mother had been a proud woman and had taught her to always conduct herself with an air of dignity; her father had fortified those sentiments in his own way: _"There'll be times when you haven't got a damn clue what you should be doing, sweetheart, but don't worry, that's normal. Just fake it 'til you make it." _

How different her mother and father had been: one so proper, the other so roguish. She hadn't really considered it before, just how alike they were to Serah and Snow. Did opposites really attract? It seemed a ridiculous premise; to be drawn to something that naturally repelled. How could stability be borne of instability? Maybe it couldn't. Maybe, she reasoned, the appeal was in the challenge; the mystery of the unexpected and the thrill of the impending end.

With this in mind, she stopped at the door of Serah's old room, and peered in. Faint hints of sweet perfume and alcohol hung in the air, concentrated it would seem above the double bed in the centre of the room – a moment's rudimentary calculation would deduce that sleeping soundly underneath the heap of bedcovers was her sister. Lightning was careful in closing the door behind her, satisfied with the fact that even in his drunken stupor, Snow was capable of observing her house rules. She wasn't entirely sure why the thought of them sharing a bed together bothered her – she had certainly warmed to him through the l'Cie ordeal, but still couldn't find it in her to actually _like_ him. From his amateur heroics to his inane grins, she really felt that Serah could do better. And after all, her sister already had someone looking out for her wellbeing – _her._

Lightning narrowed her eyes in the brightness of the lounge-come-kitchen, scowling at the sun's optimistic greeting of the day. Grabbing a protein shake from the fridge, she noticed Snow's bulky form reclined along the length of the leather couch and was grateful for his current state of unconsciousness. Face down though he was she could still hear him snoring indulgently against the silk red cushion. She rolled her eyes. _This_ is what Serah wanted to settle for? Really?

The soldier took three large gulps of her shake, grimacing at the peculiar flavour it left in her mouth and scanned the room for the presence of other bodies. Hope was curled up neatly on the armchair, purring quietly in stark contrast to the other male in the room. Vanille and Fang appeared to be gone, though a quick inspection of the driveway outside indicated that they had not gone far – their car was still parked, haphazardly, by her own. After finishing her shake, she placed the flask in the sink and steeped it in warm water, to be washed properly later on. Turning around, a glare of sunlight bouncing from the coffee table drew her attention to a cluster of beautifully wrapped gifts, perched at one edge. Birthday presents, she concluded as she paced towards them, feeling a little guilty about her behaviour the evening before. She bent down to check the labels on each.

'_To the best sis in the world, have a really great birthday! (We'll make sure you do!) Lots of love and hugs and kisses, Serah (and Snow)xxxx"_

"Tch," she grunted at the parenthesis, knowing full well that the sentiment came solely from her sister. She glanced at the brawler by her side, watching him twitch unconsciously with a near-empty liquor bottle dangling listlessly from his arm; the soldier wondered just how long he planned to stay there, paralytic and drooling on her couch. _Doesn't this guy have someplace to be?_

The next package was from Hope, Sazh and Dajh, and judging by the childish scrawl, had been written by Hope. They sent her similar birthday wishes, albeit in a more formal manner. They had also sensibly decided to forego the kisses.

It was the label of the last package that brought a faint smile to her lips.

'_To Sunshine, well ain't you gettin' old? I ain't goin' to wish you a happy birthday like I'm supposed to. In Oerba we just say congrats on livin' this long! So yeah, congrats! P.s. stop scowlin''_

A mumble from Snow alerted her to his stirring, and so she elected to open the gifts later on after work. Standing to her full height, she turned on her heel and made for the front door, mulling over the Pulsian's curious custom in her mind. 

* * *

><p>"Ten...nine...eight..." Lightning's authoritative tone carried across the parade ground as a platoon of the greenest recruits buzzed around frantically re-constructing their basic-issue gunblades from their respective parts. A talented soldier could assemble a working projectile weapon in ten seconds. Lightning could do it in eight. "Seven...six...five...four" she continued, sweeping her eyes from left to right, glaring at individual recruits in turn as her seasoned eyes spotted the follies in their actions. Every so often, the tell-tale jingle of falling components would reach her ears as she swaggered through the ranks; they would have to be better than this if they planned on doing something other than washing dishes in the officer's mess for the rest of their career. "Three...two...one," she announced loudly before barking "Time's up! Present arms!"<p>

The perfect synchronisation that was occasioned by her command sent a whisper of a thrill down her spine as it always did; such obedience to a leader they barely knew, such dependence. Lightning couldn't decide if that was admirable of pitiful. Her pace was slow, measured, as she meandered through the crowd, inspecting the weapons clutched tightly in careful hands, observing the way the morning sun hit the metal just so and reflected against bare, weeping skin.

The sergeant slowed to a stop before a rather haughty and proud looking recruit. He was taller than her, by at least half a head, although his flamboyantly spiked hairstyle made the difference seem larger. He did a decent job at hiding his trepidation at the situation; he kept his breathing steady as Lightning leered at him silently; kept his posture ram-rod straight as if imitating the very weapon that he held out in front of him. But it was in his eyes that Farron saw the flicker of uncertainty; a glimmer of insecurity that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. The boy was nervous, despite his heroic efforts at disguising the fact. Lightning might have commended him on his control had he extended the scope of that mastery to his actions.

She glanced at his gunblade and back to his hardened expression. "Is this weapon ready to fire, soldier?"

"Yes, Sergeant!" Confident. _Over_confident. How unattractive.

"Are you sure about that, soldier?" Lightning's tone remained even as she continued to stare at those dark eyes that had begun to swirl with something...what was that? Anxiety?

A beat of hesitation this time. "Y-yes, Sergeant," he replied, stumbling over the words as he struggled to control the questioning hitch in his intonation. Farron idly wondered if he felt silly hearing himself out loud like that – he was likely only familiar with the sound of his _internal_ voice of vulnerability.

"Good," she said crisply, turning to take a step away from the recruit and facing him once more after doing so. "Now I want you to level your weapon at my chest."

A wave of murmurs washed across the parade ground as once perfectly positioned heads craned to attain a better view of the unfolding events in the centre. The hushed whispers were clearer to her ears the closer their proximity, so much so she could pick out the odd "what is she doing?" and "should we go get someone?"

"Ma'am," the recruit seemed bewildered, "you...uh, you want me to—"

"Level your weapon, private," Farron hastened, taking her time to articulate each syllable clearly and clenching her fists by her side. She watched a furrow appear between his eyes that were darting about from side to side, as if tormented by some prophetic vision of the near future. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the recruit lifted the weapon in his hand, aiming it at the concealed valley of his commander's chest. The tremor in his hand was quite noticeable by now, and Lightning had no doubt that it had more to do with the gravity of the situation, rather than the weight of the firearm.

"Now," she continued calmly, lifting her head slightly, but keeping her eyes fixed on his. "Fire your weapon."

That order sent another cascade of buzzing along the ranks, more urgent this time. The confusion and apprehension radiating from the centre of the parade ground was such that some of the recruits on the furthest fringes had thoughtlessly fallen out of line and relaxed their postures, intrigued more than anything by the dramatics occurring just out of sight. Of this Lightning was aware, and she made a mental note to chastise the undisciplined behaviour in due course. For now, however, there were more pressing matters.

The private stood before her, an expression contorted not by nervousness anymore, but by _fear_. He had heard about Sergeant Farron; he knew of the things she had done. Hell, even before he joined the Guardian Corps he was familiar with the name and her trials: he remembered wondering how anyone could have possibly gone through what she had, only to come out unchanged..._normal_. Perhaps this was it - she had finally cracked. It would make sense, given the scuttlebutt around barracks about last night's activities. She was feeling guilty and wanted to die! She had obviously seen determination in him just now...strength, and so she picked him for the job. This was the most likely explanation the recruit was deciding in his vanity as the sergeant's voice clipped across his thoughts.

"Are you deaf, soldier? I said fire the goddamn weapon." Despite her profanity, she kept her voice even and calm; she had a point to make after all, and wasn't about to lose respect by losing control of her emotions.

"But...I...I," she heard him stuttering, searching for the words. "Ma'am, I...can't, I can't...I..."

Though infinite that control over her emotions would seem, the same could not be said for the string of patience which was unravelling somewhere beneath her skin at an alarming rate. It was odd: she wanted to teach the boy to face fear, to destroy it...not to conceal it and let it slumber in the darkest corners of his mind; she wanted him to learn imperfection if only to force him to truly confront himself. But this second-guessing-gain-saying was not at all what she had in mind; not what was required of him.

"Fire your weapon, private," she demanded once more, tugging her Lionheart from its sheath and in a blaze of metal and light, switched it to gun mode before aiming it directly at the soldier's head. "Or I _will_ fire mine."

The recruit exhaled sharply in horror and shuffled backwards, as if she had already fired upon him. He was moving his head freely from side to side now, as if to look for support or even confirmation from his comrades that this was in fact happening to him. He found only faces that mirrored his startled expression and so he faced the Sergeant once more. For a few moments, they stood opposite one another, the recruit shaking, confused and scared thoroughly shitless; a most definite negative image of his commanding officer who looked as though even a damned Fal'Cie itself could not force her to flinch.

His eyes were focussed on Farron's first finger which was coiled around her gunblade's trigger – it fit so snugly - so perfectly - that it could have been part of the weapon, or so he thought, in his rapidly progressing hysteria. So fixated the private was on that beautiful articulation that he wasn't even aware of Lightning advancing towards him, menace stabbing from her icy scowl. It was only the combination of the strong smell of gunmetal at his face and the gentle resistance at the gun muzzle where it brushed against Lightning's body that shook him from his mild delirium.

His eyes crossed slightly as they attempted to focus down the barrel of the gun in his face. "Pull the trigger," she rephrased the instruction, tensing her finger on the trigger of her own gunblade which seemed to attract the notice of the Private, seemed to jump-start his senses. So sudden was his deep breath, the clenching of his eyes shut tight; in the lapse of a heartbeat, he had fired the weapon.

That anti-climactic click was still enough to rip an anguished cry from deep in the boy's throat as the gun fell heavy in his hand, dragging him down after it to make an inverted L. Lightning scoffed and lowered her steady arm, collapsing the gunblade and sliding it back into place. As she glanced around, she was aware of the spectating recruits backing away a little; she wanted to roll her eyes, but thought that unprofessional. Instead, she bent down, and assisted the boy in standing upright once again. She noticed the redness in his eyes and how they threatened to leak with shame or indignation or maybe both, so chose not to draw attention to it; he'd had enough. The soldier watched him for a moment through narrowed eyes before tugging the gunblade from his hand and forcing a piece of the contraption free with a soft hiss. She shook it once in front of the private, as if to silently admonish his mistake, before turning the piece around and sliding it neatly into the same space it had previously occupied.

Returning the weapon to clammy and still shaken hands, Lightning kept her grip strong, causing the boy to glance at her in apprehension.

"When you make mistakes, you die," she said quietly, searching his eyes for understanding. He merely nodded once.

"When you hesitate under orders, others die too." At that, the boy lowered his eyes, as if more ashamed of this failure than his other mistake. Perhaps he had learnt something, Farron considered, releasing his gunblade from her grip and nodding slowly at him as he straightened to attention once more.

Sweeping her eyes over the now untidy ranks, she turned on her heel and strode to the front of the assembly. Thoughtfully, they had taken the initiative to fall back into line without the order. She stood before them and placed a hand on her cocked hip, raising her head to issue the instruction.

"Again!"

* * *

><p>Lightning was in the midst of her own equipment maintenance checks when she was informed that her CO had requested her presence. Curious, she had set down her tools immediately and made her way directly to the Lieutenant's office on the far wing of the complex; a room that was incredibly modest in its furnishing, but somehow, still managed to burst with Amodar's personality.<p>

"Sir." She straightened to attention and saluted from her chest. "You wanted to see me."

Lieutenant Amodar glanced at the sergeant from the coffee machine he was inspecting before ambling around the back of his desk and dropping into his chair with a gruff groan. She couldn't quite discern his expression, for a change. Amodar's default state seemed to be cheerful, and Lightning secretly admired his ability to let his troubles roll off his back so easily. But now, his features were pulled into something somewhere between an amused smirk and a curious regard. It was really rather foreign for him.

"How's it goin', Farron?" he asked genially in his thick down-town accent that at one time had proven difficult for the middle-class soldier to follow.

"Sir?" she asked with a frown, a little unsure of the unusually familiar inquiry.

"Everythin' okay?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and spreading his upturned palms as if to beckon a response.

"Yes Lieutenant," she replied, still a little distracted. "I...tried to make my reports as thorough as possible. Are they insufficient?"

Amodar chortled at that and sat forward again, leaning his weight on his forearms on the desk. "Naw, I read your reports, Farron," he said, smiling as he shook his head at the response. "You did good work last night. You had to make a tough call – not a lotta people coulda done what you did."

Never were there truer words said, Lightning thought to herself bitterly, ignoring the spasm in her upper left arm and holding her gaze forward. When she offered no reply, Amodar continued.

"You didn't hesitate – you did what needed done and you handled it efficiently. I'm impressed, Farron. In fact, it's why I got you up here. I'm puttin' your name forward for a commendation. Might wanna mention that on your officer application, huh?" he suggested with another broad smile.

Lightning frowned, unsure of how to take the news. A boy even younger than Hope was dead because of her, and she was being rewarded? Yes, she had followed her training, executed manoeuvres some of her colleagues could only dream about – on paper, the operation would read as a complete success. But the cost in the reality...

The Lieutenant, despite his joviality, seemed to notice her internal turmoil. "What's the matter, sergeant? Cat got your tongue? I'm commending you!"

"Sir." She replied mechanically, then paused, wondering how best to articulate her thoughts. "Sir... I appreciate your faith in my abilities. I just..." Lightning's eyes lowered for a moment in contemplation. "I felt it could have gone better. Sir."

"Ahh, I see. The kid. And you think drillin' the new recruits into the ground's gonna help?"

"Sir, had my team recalled protocol, what happened last night would never have transpired. Our positions would not have been given away and I'd never had had to...to..."

"Farron," Amodar cut in, hauling himself to his feet and lumbering towards her. The man was truly a giant – larger than life in every respect. As he placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, Lightning lifted her troubled eyes to his own. "Things don't always go to plan. You can't prepare for _everything_. Now I know you'd like to, I've known you for years after all," he chuckled softly. "But sometimes...we just gotta do what we think is best...we gotta make the best outta garbage situations, y'know?"

She knew he was right, of course. It was wisdom like that that had kept her so grounded through the more troublesome periods of her life thus far. Hell, she'd heard herself say the same thing to struggling recruits during uncharacteristic lapses in her aloofness. But Lightning was stubborn – just because she knew she couldn't win every time, didn't mean she had to like it.

"You're right, Lieutenant," she said quietly with a nod of her head, feeling him squeeze her shoulder before releasing his grip and making his way back to his chair. "And I _am_ grateful for the commendation," she added.

"Glad to hear it," Amodar replied cheerfully over his shoulder, before turning sharply to face her, "because I have a special assignment for you."

"Sir?"

"The Bodhum Masquerade, of course!" he said in a way that made Lightning's ignorance seem ridiculous. "I'm puttin' you in charge of security detail."

Quite clearly, there was no Maker. None that looked down and took pity on souls like her. Lightning couldn't help the way her lips contorted and her nose wrinkled at the very idea of patrolling such an event. The Fireworks' festival was bad enough: long, drawn out hours doing nothing at one's post, punctuated only by the occasional altercation between drunken bacchants. The Masquerade was, although more interesting to patrol, a nightmare to co-ordinate what with various parades spilling down the streets at any given time; fire-dancers exercising liberal dance-moves with flaming torches and each and every person's identity hidden behind an exotic veil – including the security officers.

"Sir, I'm flattered, but—"

"It'll be a fine way to assess your performance for officer candidacy."

"Yes Sir, but... perhaps someone better suited to the...dramatics involved. Rochester, or Mallon, or even Querbat—"

"You're doing it, Farron." Amodar sounded uncharacteristically firm as he lowered himself into his chair again and shifted to get comfortable. "We're expectin' a huge turn out this year – I need my best people on this. And that's you. You'll do good, I know you will."

Lightning sighed inwardly, reluctantly accepting the responsibility thrust upon her. Lifting her head and gathering herself once more, she saluted the Lieutenant and on seeing his nod, spun on her heel and made for the exit. From behind her, she heard Amodar chortle...to himself?

"Hey, Farron," he called after her, slowing her departure. "Don't worry about this, okay? It'll be a ball!"

Lightning was thankful to be faced in the opposite direction so as to hide her darkening countenance. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she replied over her shoulder, before continuing out of the door.

* * *

><p>Her lunch hour was passing uneventfully. It was a beautiful day outside, so Lightning had elected to eat her lunch in the grounds, watching the recruits perform their kata in the baking mid-day sunshine. She found the practice oddly relaxing, even with their mentor barking the names of forms so gruffly. The soldier lifted her glass of iced tea from the bench and took a refreshing swig of the peach-flavoured libation, lost in idle thoughts of how it was made. It was in this distraction, that she failed to notice the presence of a someone approaching behind her.<p>

"Phew! And I thought the Summers in Oerba were bad!" Lightning choked on her gulp of tea and spun around suddenly, her widened eyes falling on the face of a raven-haired Pulsian who continued to complain about the heat. "It is _roastin'_ today!"

"Fang!" she hissed, standing and instinctually grabbing the Pulsian by the arm to pull her out of sight of the other soldiers. Lightning peered from behind the wall of the barracks, confirming no one had noticed the two of them disappear there and returned her attention to the huntress who was standing before her, looking smug. You're not supposed to...!" Lightning clipped herself short, suspecting that the Pulsian was aware that she was trespassing and furthermore didn't care. "How did you get in here?" A more prudent question, Lightning decided.

"Oh," Fang said with distinct nonchalance. "I just asked at the gate." She watched the raven-haired woman shrug her shoulders before casually leaning against the wall of the barracks.

"What?" the soldier asked, incredulous. "They just...let you in?" So much for being a security regiment.

On hearing this, Fang let out a hearty chuckle. Lightning watched as her angled jaw tipped back slightly, allowing the melodic laughter to project over the top of her head. "Nah, no way!" Fang corrected once she had calmed herself, stepping closer to Light and showing her the mischief she had been hiding in her eyes. "Your Private Pompous on the gate," she began, gesturing in his general direction with a flick of her head, "he's a racist prick...musta clocked the accent or somethin'. Told me to shove off as soon as I opened my mouth. Cheeky sod."

Lightning arched a brow, glancing in the direction of the reception before returning her attention to the huntress, who had folded her arms across her chest, apparently a little miffed at her ill treatment. Because the soldier was well acquainted with the Pulsian's temper, she had to ask. "Fang, you didn't... attack the guard, did you?"

"What? No!" she bellowed, gently shaking her head. "Gimme some credit, Light, by _Pulse_... I know how to act proper when I have to." The Pulsian lifted and turned her head as if indignant, but after a moment, regarded the soldier out of the corner of her eye and grinned impishly. 'Sides, I reckon you wouldn't be much pleased with me if I'd fought my way in to visit you, eh?" Lightning considered this, watching her shift her weight onto her other hip and place her hands on her hips. "I used the other entrance."

Farron narrowed her eyes at the admission. "What _other _entrance?"

Another quirk of the Pulsian's lips was a tell-tale sign of amusement. Fang gestured over her shoulder with a thumb to the scaffolding on the adjacent building; Lightning's eyes immediately found the stray platform suspended from a jib crane swaying leisurely over the electric fencing that surrounded the perimeter of the grounds.

"Very clever," said Lightning, a tinge of sardonicism colouring the words. There was very little that would lift her spirits having recently received the news about the Masquerade. "Now, what are you doing here?"

Fang shrugged and reclined against the wall again, holding either arm across her chest. "Oh, y'know, I was in the neighbourhood, thought I'd drop by." She glanced at Lightning and catching the unconvinced look in her eyes, tipped her head back, as if in defeat. "Alright, look, I...was kinda drunk last night. Don't much remember what I was sayin', but I _do_ remember bein' in your room n' botherin' you." There was a sheepish look about Fang as she spoke...one that the soldier had not noticed before: it was entirely captivating...endearing. She wondered if Fang was vulnerable like this with a lot of people, and decided almost instantly that she didn't like the idea that she was.

When she looked at the soldier once more with such an achingly honest expression and said, "I guess I just wanted to make sure I hadn't upset you," Lightning felt a surge of longing deep within her chest...and further below. The sensation burned and pooled between her legs; all so suddenly she was slick with lust and felt her face flush with the realisation. She had to create some distance between them. She had to get away. Immediately.

"You should leave," Farron said, sounding more husky than she desired and abruptly turned, striding away from the raven-haired, olive-skinned, _perfectly-formed_ Pulsian.

"Light?" Fang called after her, following the soldier around the edge of the barracks. "Hang on!"

Lightning was determined to ignore those heavy footfalls following after her and increased her speed despite having no idea where her legs were carrying her to.

"Lightning! Come on! I didn't mean to— hey, are you even listenin' to me?"

"Go home, Fang," the sergeant instructed over her shoulder, never slowing.

"Did I say somethin'? Light, tell me..."

Farron reached the doorway of the barracks and dipped inside, turning quickly to close the door behind her, heart thundering in her chest. A sandaled foot blocked its path, one that belonged to a very frustrated looking Pulsian. Fang had her hands on either side of the doorframe and was leering at Lightning through the gap in the doorway. Lightning couldn't quite identify all of the emotions playing across the Oerban's face, but the flashes of confusion, irritation and concern were fairly discernable.

"Fang..."

"What did I say?"

"Nothing, just—" Lightning paused and looked away, distracted by movement in the room. The recruits were beginning to file in for afternoon classes. How very damn punctual of them. Frowning, she returned her attention to the huntress who had shown no signs of moving. Such determination, such devotion; each look was such a tease – if only she knew.

"Fang," Lightning breathed. " I have work to do. You really can't be here. Please."

The Pulsian searched her eyes for a moment, before shaking her head as if exasperated and pushing off from the doorway. "Fine," she snapped, stepping out from the doorway and looking away with pursed lips. Her irritation did not go unnoticed by the soldier, who shifted to open the door a little further.

"Hey, Fang," she said gently, looking over her shoulder briefly and back to the Pulsian. "I finish at five." Lightning felt her heart skip a beat as Fang reluctantly moved her gaze to meet with hers. Lightning smiled weakly. "Just... if you have nothing else to do..." the soldier shrugged, feeling the offer to be somewhat lame. Fang didn't even seem to acknowledge it at first; her gaze merely remained fixed on the soldier's face. When Lightning glanced behind herself again, concerned about drawing an audience, she heard the Oerban snort and looking back, saw her swaggering off in the direction that they had come, blue sari flickering in the slight breeze that carried her scent in her wake.

Farron frowned at the abrupt departure – not that she had any room to complain.


	3. a moment of stillness

_iii. God Is An Astronaut – A Moment of Stillness_

_She is without doubt the most infuriatin' woman I have ever known. _

Ever!

_Forever blowin' hot and cold, you'd better believe me, the Pulsian seasons' got nothin' on Lightnin'. By Etro I swear, it's enough to send you into orbit sometimes; hell, further than that! Vanille says I'm just bein' hot headed n' that it's strange I let her rag on my nerves so much, but I'll be damned if I can help it. I don't get it. I don't get her. I don't understand how she can be so bloody indifferent n' closed n' at the same time be so devoted to her family n' friends. When she's bein' like this I just can't believe it was her that got me n' Vanille outta crystallization. Who does somethin' like that then, goes to those lengths then acts like you got the bloody plague?_

_Infuriatin'._

_Snow was tellin' me that she'd lightened up a bit after the whole l'Cie business; he even got her to join him n' Serah at that club near the beach. Can you imagine it? Lightnin' in a club? I know, it's all kindsa barmy. I thought the lug had blown his trippy noodle when he told me. But here's the interestin' part: 'soon as me n' Vanille are back n' move up here...she's back to playin' the stoic, distant soldier. Just like that, BAM. She's not exactly subtle about it neither. All 'no, I can't do that I have to work' n''I'm too tired, maybe some other time'. But she knows just fine she don't mean it – there is no "other time". She's avoidin' me...only...she's not. She'll suffer to be around me, but she makes that sufferin' as plain as can be. It wasn't always like this – she wasn't like this...not before._

_Listen, I'm no head doc, but this change, it says somethin'. I don't know what yet...but I'm gonna find out. _

_Mark me._

_A Yun don't make no empty promises. _

She was late. And she was _never_ late.

An amber sun was hanging low in the sky more than two hours after the time Lightning was due to finish her shift. It caused Fang's shadow to stretch out indulgently along the pavement beneath her feet as she reclined against the warm stone gateway, a playful breeze teasing the tail of her sari this way then that. She was feeling rather peculiar this evening, and was attempting to ignore her feelings of irritation by focussing on finding the reason behind this strange sense of confusion.

It was with some reluctance that she had returned to this place - admitted to herself that she actually _wanted_ to spend time around the soldier's arresting coolness, if only to try to figure out what the hell had been going on with her lately. Undoubtedly, Lightning's behaviour at lunch time had utterly bewildered her and as much as she was at pains to admit it, she felt a little hurt that she detected no sincerity in what she assumed was Farron's form of apology. But something intangible had pulled her here, back to this place where she might find her; something that eluded her. It was bloody annoying.

Her mind so awash with convoluted thoughts as she unconsciously glared at Private Pompous, she didn't really register him mirroring the expression from within the Perspex guard tower. He'd been out once already, demanding with the aid of some rather imaginative hand gestures that she clear off, threatening to have her under charges for "loitering" or some other such nonsense that Fang didn't quite comprehend. She decided that he must have just been unhappy that she was hanging around lollygagging, and swiftly concluded that she couldn't care less – silly Cocoon folk. She wasn't _technically_ trespassing anyway she had reminded herself as she glanced at her sandaled feet that barely grazed the boundary line – at least not anymore.

A defiant cry from a sea bird swooping overhead clipped across her thoughts, as if to bring to the warrior's attention that distant approaching storm - that indomitable form – of Sergeant Lightning Farron. Fang watched her in the dying light, striding across the lifeless grey expanse, through the orange and red cut aside by daggers of cerulean blue; so captivating was the soldier's advance that she had failed to notice herself staring, lips apart, sucking in the evening air that parched her throat on its charge to whisking the reason from her mind. In that vacuum of good sense there blossomed insidious contemplation; bursting buds of bawdy brooding. Did Lightning know that she swung her hips that way when she walked? Like some damn catwalk model Fang had seen on television? She could be watching the pendulum in one of those old clocks she'd seen at Hope's place; so hypnotic was the movement...all too bewitching.

It was only the sound of her familiar voice the reminded the Pulsian that it was the lithe, toned form of her _friend_ that she was so unabashedly appraising and prompted her to shift her gaze to a level more appropriate. _Let's see...her chest?_ _NO! Her face? Yes. The face._

"Hmm." Lightning's hum was hitched with surprise as she slowed to a halt, regarding the Oerban passively. "You're here." _Well ain't that nice of her to notice. _ Fang pushed herself off of the wall with her shoulder, struggling to control her frown at the soldier's indifference. "I didn't think you'd wait around for me."

_What is that supposed to mean?_ For a fleeting moment, she felt indignant at the implication that Light had expected the huntress to turn up at all, especially after that performance earlier. It's not like she could have taken her storming off as an RSVP. But then she began to think – always a dangerous pursuit for someone like Fang, who loved nothing more than to over-analyse situations, especially ones in which she felt herself being challenged. She started to panic inwardly, wondering if her showing up at all had given Farron the upper-hand in knowing that she had made the soldier a priority. And yes, that's exactly what she had done; it was a beautiful evening after all, one that could have otherwise been spent enjoying one of her many personal vices. She knew for a fact that Lebreau had been trying to set her up with some new NORA initiate for weeks now – he was a looker by all accounts too, liked card games, great sense of humour...ideal for Fang, really. But no, none of that had mattered. She was here now, stewing in the irritation she had chosen to make for herself and feeling oddly off-kilter under Lightning's indiscernible gaze.

Why was she even thinking in terms of power play? Light was a friend, wasn't she? And why on Pulse was she fretting over what Lightning might be thinking? She's the one who'd kept her hanging around for hours; the one who seemed completely oblivious to the fact.

A few quiet moments passed during which Fang tried desperately to sort out her thoughts, finally realising that her companion was waiting for her to say something. _Don't give'er anything, Fang. Poker face, got it? Right._

"Nothin' better to do," she lied, shrugging her shoulders as if that would somehow lend some veracity to her claim.

Lightning continued to study her for a moment, bathed in the evening's golden hue, her face expressionless, until she made to turn. As she brushed past her, Fang's attention was drawn to the dip in her brows that spoke to an expression quite estranged from the soldier: disappointment. "I see," she heard the woman say flatly, not affording the Pulsian the grace of her countenance.

Following in her footsteps, Fang couldn't help but notice that this was the second time today that she was chasing after Lightning - chasing after her instinctively and having no understanding as to why. She could tell herself that it was because Farron was a buddy, a pal...as her friend, it was her job to cheer her up. But if Fang was honest with anyone, it was with herself. That look Lightning had given her last night, while they were alone in her room, it had not left her; as dull as her senses had been, that intense scrutiny had stripped her of something that night and spoken to the darkest corners of her mind.

Fang halted suddenly, arrested by a worrying sensation – urgent, unfamiliar...unmistakable.

_...Have I got a..._thing_ for Lightning?_

The Oerban was the one frowning now, concerned that she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs as if struggling to free itself of its cage and testify to the notion. She glanced ahead, watching the soldier swagger on, apparently oblivious to this little revelation occurring only a few feet behind her. Or maybe it was just that she was just disinterested; disinclined to make the effort to dig beneath the surface and explore the new worlds that lay beneath. Lightning often gave that impression anyway; sometimes Fang could swear that she revelled in the superficiality of it all. She refused to lay the blame to her heritage either, because Serah was nothing like her. The younger Farron had wasted no time in interrogating the Oerban about everything from her favourite food to her past relationships; hell, even Snow had been privy to some of her more colourful tales of adolescence, even though their heart-to-hearts tended to evolve from the consumption of dangerous levels of libations.

But Lightning never asked about anything like that and it was with a pang of guilt that Fang realised that the offense was one that they both shared. What did she really _know_ about the soldier? That she was in the Guardian Corps? That she...worked a lot? A terrible sickness settled in her gut when she thought of how she didn't even know what Lightning's favourite colour was. Something so inconsequential suddenly seemed so profound, so important. There was more that she would know, of course, and it was fuelled by these strange new feelings towards the woman that she felt the desire to know the soldier ignite ferociously, deep behind her eyes, within her heart, below...so far below.

With another quick inspection, she found the elder Farron still blazing ahead and decided that it would probably be a good idea not to lose her date for the evening so broke into a jog after her.

As she slowed down alongside Light, she caught a flicker of acknowledgement in the corner of the soldier's eyes, but she did not stop to make a show of it. Those powerful legs pushed on, over damaged pavestones and gravel and dust, like the pistons of an engine, steaming ahead mechanically, as if she had somewhere to be. _Where was she going anyway?_

The Oerban smiled at her fondly before returning her attention to the street ahead. "Well, I've had better," Fang suddenly said - rather flippantly.

An almost imperceptive stint in her stride fortified the confusion that played across the soldier's face as she looked at the raven-haired Pulsian. "You've...had what better?" Lighting asked uncertainly.

Fang had always loved the soldier's look of sheer bewilderment.

"Days," she responded chirpily, affording the soldier a brief glance before looking up and noticing some low-hanging branches. She reached up and twisted some leaves from its twigs, just for something to fidget with as she walked with Lightning, under the urban canopy that threw wild shadows across their bodies; a useful distraction from that gunslinger gait, she had thought to herself. "I figured you just forgot to ask."

Another genuine smile seemed to melt her frostiness as her expression softened, slightly, and she had slowed down somewhat to a more leisurely pace.

"Oh...right..." she said, shifting her gaze to the pavement below then ahead of herself. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Fang couldn't help but feel a little irritated once more, mindful of the fact she was yet to receive an apology for her arrival that was far too late to appear fashionable.

"Don't you wanna know why?" she pressed, attempting to disguise the agitation in her voice.

"Uhm, okay..." Lightning drawled, sounding wary. "Why?"

"Well, I've got this friend...," Fang began, rubbing the stalk of the leaf between her finger and thumb, watching it lose its form in the spin. It was either focus on that or allow herself to be riled by her companion stoic. "Been a bit of a nightmare lately really - actin' pretty damn odd if I do say so myself; invitin' friends to meet with her one minute, then standin' them up the next..."

It was then that her simmering soreness bubbled over noticing a smile – no – a big, damned grin plastered over the soldier's heart-shaped face. _She's got a bloody nerve._

"What's so funny?" she demanded, waving ta-ta to any chance of appearing cool.

By contrast, it had only taken the queen of calm mere seconds to regain _her_ composure. "It's nothing," she replied with a soft smile, before glancing across the street at a small cluster of independent retailers who were busy taking in their stock and closing up shop.

"No, come on, let's hear it." Fang halted, placing her hands on her hips and bending towards Lightning, who had stopped with the Pulsian and even turned to face her. "You think it's funny that I hung around, don't you? Havin' a good laugh at daft ol' Fang, right? Well, hate to break it to you _Sunshine, _but—"

"Fang." Lightning could silence her, just like that. Infuriating. "I'm not laughing at you." Hmm, she sounded honest enough...interesting. "I just..." she trailed off, searching the ground for the words she seemed to have dropped and lost there. Fang watched her shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath she took, and suddenly felt weary for the soldier who, she had to remind herself, had just finished yet another long day's shift. As their eyes met once more, as a delicate understanding breathed between them, the Pulsian felt all fury in her veins slip away. "Let me explain later."

Despite phrasing it as a request, Fang heard the instruction in her tone: _you will_ let me explain later. It wasn't uncharacteristic of the soldier to act so authoritatively, especially so soon after finishing work; what _was _strange, was Fang's unconditional acceptance of it all. A moment ago she was ready to lay in to the woman and now? Now...she knew for certain that she wanted to know this person beneath the mask – wanted to rip it off. Fang wasn't prepared to sacrifice her autonomy...but neither could she deny feeling the trace of trepidation that maybe, just maybe...Lightning would compel her to...

She'd walked away again, her departure largely unnoticed by Fang who was lost in her own internal musings. When she had hastened herself to catch up with her, it suddenly dawned on her that she had no idea where Lightning was headed.

"Where did you say your car was?" the Oerban asked, glancing about the district that she was unfamiliar with.

"No car," Lightning said, pausing at a shop window displaying a vast array of shining jewels inset into various chains and rings. Fang stopped with her, admiring the jewellery and following the soldier's eyesight in an attempt to identify which piece she was focussing on. It was pretty difficult. "Serah's got it," Light added, before turning away abruptly and making her way to the edge of the pavement.

"Right. So that means...?" she inquired, crossing her arms and leaning against the shop window casually.

"It means..." Farron began, throwing a slender leg over a parked velobike in one smooth motion and tilting her head slightly to speak over her shoulder. "You get to ride in the goofy seat." Fang felt a spike of anticipation as Lightning beckoned her with a flick of the head and a slow smirk. Before she could even register an objection, her legs were carrying her forward and slipping over the leather saddle that felt pleasantly warm against her skin. Pressed up behind her like this, Fang was forced to breathe the soldier in; underneath her musky perfume and apple-scented shampoo, the hunter could detect hints of gunmetal and winter frost: Farron's natural scent, Fang concluded and frowned at the stirring she felt between her thighs. She shifted uncomfortably, the swell of her chest brushing against Lightning's firm back that served to only excite a part of her she was rapidly beginning to lose control of.

"You might want to hold on," Lightning warned, punching in the start-up sequence and causing the engine to roar into life.

Not that the idea wasn't one she was pleasantly entertaining, Fang couldn't help but snort derisively at what she perceived as unnecessary concern. "Light..." she began in a reproachful tone. "That's real sweet and all, but I think if I can handle Bahamut, I'm more than able to handle—"

In a flash of colour and a rush of air, Lightning took off at ridiculous speeds, leaving Fang's words far, far behind them. 

* * *

><p>The restaurant Lightning had taken them to looked expensive. Not <em>too<em> expensive, but affluent enough to make Fang feel self conscious about her revealing attire. Lightning, of course, looked resplendent in her uniform – naturally she was drawing lecherous leers from passers-by as she slid herself off of the bike. Fang glared at them for their insolence, and scowled even deeper when they directed the same looks at her. She didn't want any interruptions tonight; she could barely stand the company of these desperate Cocoon men at the best of times, but now that she had a focus, a challenge...coming in between her and that goal would not end well for anyone.

"Wish you'd mentioned we'd be comin' _here_" Fang informed her as she admired the chic entranceway of the eatery.

"You said you were hungry," came the reply. The huntress thought back to velobike ride...yes. Yes she had. Annoying.

"Well, yeah, I am, but..." Fang motioned to her tribal garb. "I'm not exactly dressed to kill." Well – that wasn't exactly true, she could easily kill in what she was wearing, but she knew Lightning understood her meaning. "How 'bout we head over to Lebreau's? It's just along the coast, we could—"

"Fang, you look—"

The Pulsian glanced at her, acutely aware that she was holding her breath for those next words: she was afraid that to exhale would be enough to blow away whatever courage Lightning had been mustering during the bike ride.

She watched the play of emotions across her face and deeply resented the sinking feeling she felt as Lightning looked away, a faint blush rouging her cheeks. "What you have on is fine for this place, trust me," the soldier said absently, pocketing her keys and turning her back to the Oerban, making for the door, with Fang following suit.

She paused behind Lightning, allowing her the room needed to pull open the heavy glass door that swung from golden hinges. The soldier performed the action so smoothly and so effortlessly that it took Fang a little surprise, but not more so than the fact that Lightning was standing there, silently, just...holding the door open. The Oerban stared at her blankly for a moment, looking, she supposed, like a complete buffoon. So dazed was she by the gesture that she didn't even notice another couple of diners sidle past her awkwardly, grimacing at her with some irritation but nodding a thank you to Lightning who had not moved - though was beginning to look a little uncomfortable.

"Won't you come inside?" the Sergeant finally asked, tilting her head gently in the direction of the restaurant and beckoning with upturned palm.

Fang blinked through her inner disbelief and shuffled forward, slowing as she passed Lightning and meeting her eyes that shot bolts of electricity down her spine. "Uhm...yeah..." Fang mumbled uncertainly. "Cheers." 

* * *

><p>Dinner had not been pleasant.<p>

The food was, the company - definitely, but as had been expected, Fang had been under the scrutiny of both the other diners and waiting staff ever since she had set her Pulsian-sandaled foot in the door. As Lightning had implied, no one was particularly dolled-up to eat, but it was obvious that the restaurant served as a hotspot for trendy fashion aficionados to assemble and talk about well...themselves. All were inordinately perceptive in clocking that Fang was from "out of town" which seemed to be of some importance to them, for one reason or another.

The Pulsian had kept her cool through the majority of their vacuous drivel about how "hard it must be for someone like her to fit into a civilised society" and how "she probably didn't receive a proper education, poor thing"; frankly, Fang pitied them as much as they claimed to pity her; she felt bad that they had led such sheltered, enclosed little lives; felt sorry that she'd have to crack their heads open after dinner.

It had taken all of her restraint not to leap up from the table, chuck the fine Cabernet sauvignon over their alabaster-coloured dresses and storm out of the restaurant; that's why she had lost sight of her focus and shrunk into herself, quietly pushing food around on her plate waiting, just _waiting_ for Lightning to say something. _Anything._

When she finally did, it was unexpected, but welcome.

"Do you have to be home to let Vanille in?" she had asked, stirring some sugar into her coffee.

"Nah, she's stayin' at Hope's for the weekend. Tryin' not to think about it to be honest."

At that point, Lightning had placed her spoon on the saucer and raised the cup to her lips, taking a small sip of the drink before setting it back down, carefully; she had lifted her eyes to Fang.

"I'd like to show you something, after dinner, if you'd like," she'd stated simply before gesturing to a passing waiter for the bill.

Lightning had seemed pleased when Fang had agreed, but was frowning, deeply, again by the time that they left. Fang had no idea what she'd done to bother her this time; she'd insisted on paying for her half of the meal even! There was really no telling with Farron – the mystery was the source of both attraction and frustration. 

* * *

><p>Night air has the strangest flavour.<p>

Fang breathed it in, deeply, enjoying the cool rush to the back of her throat and in her lungs; how refreshing it was to be out of the city, away from the noise and the lights and the _people_. Pulse, there were so many people on Cocoon – in Bodhum especially. She was still getting used to life up here: the customs, the sights and smells...the way everyone always seemed to be in a rush: it had been months by now and she was still adjusting. She was certain that if she had confessed as much to Lightning she would scoff and say "typical". For some reason, she had this impression of Fang being stubborn.

Nonsense.

But she liked this place that Lightning had brought them to. It was a good twenty-minute drive inland, by the country roads, enclosed by sloping hills that appeared black in moonless night. It was dark by now, and the obsidian sky sparkled brighter than the window display they had noticed together earlier. The brighter constellations of the heavens were reflected perfectly in the pool of water that appeared so still in the darkness; so peaceful they looked...the stars.

Fang smiled as she trudged down to the water's edge, the pebble-bed crunching beneath each foot fall that brought her closer to such serenity. She hadn't known places like this existed on Cocoon; it reminded her so much of Gran Pulse. Too much. She missed it, sometimes, when she let herself. She normally only got sentimental when she felt trapped in the city; pressed in amongst sweating bodies, swept up in pounding rhythmic beats – Fang didn't need those car crash colours. Moments of stillness were what refreshed her soul; moments like this.

Her poignant reverie evidently did not go unnoticed by the soldier.

"Fang?" A pause in which her sweet-scented presence drew closer, hovered behind her, by her shoulder, watching. "What is it?"

Genuine concern touched the words, which made the moment alone with Lightning all the more meaningful for the Oerban, who was not at all comfortable being vulnerable like this. Not that expected Lightning to understand how exposed she might feel if she were admit to being homesick; to admit to having weaknesses after all.

She let out a long, slow breath and fixed her gaze on the stars above. "The sky looks so different up here," the Pulsian said finally, directing the soldier's attention heaven-bound. Fang wanted to appreciate the beauty but felt lost as she stared at the celestial tapestry. "I don't even know which way is north," she admitted bitterly, searching the expanse desperately for a familiar constellation. She was vaguely aware of Lightning's shoulder brushing against her own as she watched the skies alongside her, silent, strong.

After a moment, she spoke. "It's that way," she said, pointing across Fang's body and the water at an angle. Fang glanced in the direction, then turned her head to regard Lightning, acutely aware of the proximity of her face to the soldier's. Malachite touched cerulean, like the morning sky would meet with these fertile pastures; Fang forgot her sorrow in that moment; forgot that she was not home.

A slow blink from the soldier released her from her thrall and she let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "How do you know?" the Oerban asked absently, returning her gaze to the diamond-studded velvet. She heard the crunch of gravel as her companion shifted her weight onto her other leg and to her surprise, felt the warmth of her torso press against her back – a hand whispering down her bare arm and capturing her hand.

She swore she felt her heart skip several beats as she reminded herself to keep breathing, letting the strong hold on her arm lift it skyward and nimble fingers make her point with her own.

"Do you see that bright star, in the middle of those three in a line?" Lightning's voice was low and softer than usual as she spoke into Fang's ear; her words falling as delicate kisses against her perspiring skin. She opened her mouth, but could not speak; the words, they were somewhere, trapped in the back of her mind, lodged in her throat..._somewhere_, but not where they needed to be. She closed her mouth again, thankful to still have control over her motor functions at least, and then nodded her head gently.

She swore she _felt_ Lightning smile as she lowered her arm ever so slightly, to level at a two points of light, pulsating in the darkness...much like the Pulsian's heart. "The twins – you've heard of them, haven't you?" the soldier breathed, the words tickling Fang's skin. She nodded again – of course she had. Every hunter knew that they could find their bearings with those celestial bodies. They looked so unusual from Cocoon.

She felt Farron lower their arms, slowly, so slowly, releasing her hold on her. _Over her?_ Fang felt a pang of disappointment as the soldier stepped away, neglecting to look at her now she had turned to face her. It worsened when she suggested that it was late and that they should get back to Bodhum, but how could she tell Light that she wanted to stay there, with her - in her arms, preferably. She was sure this had nothing to do with the wine she had quaffed, or even the sickingly romantic gesture Farron had made in bringing her here. It was just Lightning; it was her...something about her. Someone she felt like a complete fool for not really _seeing_ before now.

"Come on."

Heavy were her footsteps in her retreat of that place. And weak was her hold around Lightning as she drove them through the night back to reality.

Of course, she had walked her to her door, where they now stood opposite one another, a gentle breeze sighing between them.

"I had fun tonight," Fang informed the soldier, scowling at her own unoriginality. Lightning said nothing as she stared at something in the distance, but did smile, at least. A smile that reminded Fang of something. "Y'know...you still haven't told me what you grinnin' about earlier." The Pulsian watched as Light turned to regard her. "On the street, around from your work," she clarified.

"Oh, that," Light said, her smile growing wider as she glanced away again. "I guess I just like that my tardiness bothers you so much." A heartbeat later and her eyes were back on Fang. "I like that you waited around for me, not knowing when, or even if I would be leaving." She paused, as if to search Fang's face for something. "It told me something that I had been wondering about."

The Pulsian felt like she was pushing it, but was compelled to ask. "And what did I tell you?"

She watched as Lightning laughed softly and breathily, that benevolent wind teasing pink bangs in its wake. How extraordinary it was to see her like this; for her to show herself this way. Fang found herself holding her breath, clenching her clammy palms, unable to still her racing heart.

"Something that I needed to know," Lightning replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, before turning on her heel and hopping back onto her bike. Moments later, the vehicle thrummed into life and sped away down the empty street, leaving a single soul languishing in rapture so unexpected.


	4. I can't say no to you

_A/N_

_iv. VAST – I Can't Say No To You._

_What do you think you can know of me when all that you see is only what I allow myself to show? _

_Such colour you have chosen to paint me in, but I see the grey that reflects in your eyes. It passes over you like a straying shadow and your windows darken, whenever I draw near..._

_Listen closely and you will hear the storm that precedes me; the signs are there for you to read. The thunder cracks and I am announced...and as I am announced... there shall I be._

* * *

><p>At the island in her kitchen, Lightning stood over a slate chopping board, knife in hand, rhythmically working the blade over some herbs she meant to scatter over her lunch. Only a very subtle movement was required to shred the aromatic bouquet to pieces what with Lightning's habit of keeping every knife edge in her home perilously sharp. She found the soft slicing sounds rather soothing as they fell from the blade – certainly as therapeutic as the mindless chopping motion that her right hand had busied itself with. It was overcast outside – predictably, she had thought, since it was her day off – and both the kitchen and lounge were bathed in a dull luminance from the daylight shining through the generously-sized windows that arced with the room's shape. The television droned on quietly above her head about the day's news - not that she could really pay attention to it with Serah here.<p>

The younger Farron had turned up unannounced (as she often did) a little after mid-day, informing Lightning that they would be having lunch together. The soldier was grateful she'd had enough courtesy to leave Snow to his own devices across town – she wasn't sure she had the patience for any of his high-spirited antics today.

What Serah had mistaken for tiredness in her older sister was in fact distraction; a very peculiar kind of distraction and one that Lightning was not at all comfortable with. She had told herself earlier that the source of this pre-occupation was work, but of course, that wasn't entirely true. She _had_ spent the greater part of her morning examining Bodhum's city plans for the upcoming festivities, but she hadn't given _that_ her undivided attention either. Much to her chagrin, she found herself thinking back to the weekend's events – the evening spent with Fang, in particular. Sadly, she couldn't fault anyone but herself for that when it was she who had made the conscious decision to wear the wrist band the Pulsian had made for her for her birthday. She glanced at it, wrapped loosely around her pale wrist: like its maker, it was colourful and exotic and contrasted quite starkly with the soldier's dispassionate demeanour. Woven into the fabric were curious charms – also alien in nature, but intriguing in their design. One in particular was teal in colour, a gem stone of some description; it was long a tapered to a fine point – Fang-shaped, Light had realised with a smile. It was really unlike anything Farron would normally wear, which was why she so suspicious that Serah had not yet asked about it. She always noticed that sort of thing.

The soldier nodded and hmmed absently, listening to her sister talk about the state of the wedding preparations. Lightning remained completely non-committal in her replies, not least because she was still highly sceptical about the arrangements going ahead as planned. The pair had called it off twice already, though thankfully before any major undertakings had gotten underway. As her legal guardian and older sibling, she was naturally distrustful of the instability between the couple – relationships were about more than love after all.

Love...relationships...Lightning was having trouble ignoring that worrying sensation that accompanied the introduction of these new considerations into her world. It was disturbing that she didn't quite understand how she was feeling at the moment; that she felt so out of sorts. And she knew why - she knew who to blame. Everyone else reached into to her with hands that she couldn't feel...but she felt Fang. _Etro_, could she_ feel_ _her_. And all too well – _that_ was the problem. Fang was the flame that would lick her skin...that would blister it and burn it and eat a path to her core, her citadel...the place where Claire Farron had sheltered from the storm and grown into her own, with no boundaries or restrictions to guide her development. _She_ was the one that the huntress would seek...therein lay the darkness that would smother the blaze.

Lightning knew she had been dangerous with Fang that night - careless in her unspoken admissions. She had realised that as soon as she arrived home to find a message from her waiting on her answering machine:

"_Hey...uh...it's me again_!"Fang had paused at that moment and in the lapse of conversation, Light had heard a door sigh then click shut. She recalled Fang's awkwardness as she spoke the next words, how her volume was hushed as though she were admitting something illicit that she didn't want repeated. "_Well_..._I guess you're not home yet... Yeah...just thought you might've been – you drive like a loon, after all. Heh. Hmm..."_ Another distended pause, then a sigh – her's, this time. _"Look, I uh...I just wanted to...to check you got back okay. And to say thanks again for tonight. I really _did_ have a great time. I wasn't expectin' to neither and – wait...wait – I didn't mean it like that. Pulse! What I _meant_ was... well, I guess you suprised me. I didn't expect to have so much fun with you. Not that you're not fun, but...ugh, damnit. Heh heh. You kinda got me off kilter here...look, just...gimme a call when you get this. You can laugh at me soundin' like a complete twit and I can point out that you're the twit that took the twit out and if worst comes to worse, we can trade blows at dawn."_ A beat of hesitation in which her tone changed; Lightning heard the smirk with which the next words were spoken. _"Y'know...with weapons."_ The soldier had stood over the machine quietly once the message had ended, that double entendre echoing in her mind as it had in the stillness of the room. She'd hovered a hand over the receiver, and then quickly drew back.

She did not return the call - or any of the other five.

It had nothing to do with _wanting_ Fang -and it had _everything_ to do with wanting her. It was just that 'desire' didn't seem to cut it anymore, couldn't describe the sensation – words were inadequate, demeaning in their attempt. Distancing herself from her problems seemed cowardly, but she did not trust herself around the Pulsian. And she hated herself for it; hated that aching chasm she felt between them, that _she_ put between them; there was a sick sense of satisfaction in it, in denying Fang... in denying herself. Each time she lost herself in this river of emotion, she felt herself pulled by a current of depravity...ripping her, stripping her in amongst the turbulence; chewing her up, spitting her out...where? On the banks of sin? No. Nowhere. Nowhere is where she ended up – that was where Lightning and Fang were bound, so long as the winds did not change...

"Sis?"

Lightning blinked free from her reverie and glanced at Serah who was standing by her side, studying her curiously.

"Huh? What?" she asked, pretending that she was unaware that she'd blanked out for several scenes of Serah's monologue and meeting eyes that had been inherited from their mother. She watched Serah dip her head towards the chopping board, a flicker of amusement playing across her lips.

"Are you planning on feeding the whole of Bodhum?" she giggled as she turned away and busied herself at another countertop behind, leaving Light to frown down at the mound of green she'd hacked to pieces. _Nice going, Light_.

She set the knife down on the slate and turned to the sink, smiling diffidently at her sister as she ran her hands under the warm rush of water. She liked that she didn't ever have to explain her behaviour to Serah; it didn't matter that the she was as much a mystery to the younger Farron as anyone else – Serah just accepted Lightning's idiosyncrasies for what they were: a part of her. She didn't question her long bouts of silence during a conversation, or her stand offish nature with strangers. The soldier supposed that was a part of what made her worth it: all the concern and effort.

"You're remembering about tonight, right? Biblio's?" There was a lapse in Lightning's concentration as her hand hovered over the faucet. No, no she wasn't and it showed on her face. "Oh come on, sis," Serah groaned, turning to face Lightning and letting her shoulders drop in a gesture of weariness. "You, me, Snow...middle of the month meal...ring any bells?" Actually, yes, it did – they all chimed in a terrific chorus of disaster and devastation, sounding the advent of Hell. The sergeant glared at the tap as she turned it off; her actions seemed impatient, not that she was any hurry at all today.

"Can't you just go without me?" she asked pointlessly, for she already knew what Serah would say.

"No, Claire, we can't." Predictable, Lightning noted as she searched around for a towel with which to dry her hands. "Come on, sis, this is about us being a family... it's real important to me; to us. Please?"

In the corner of her eye she saw something floating at eye level; a brief inspection revealed it to be a towel, clutched in the hand of her hopeful-looking sister. Lightning accepted it and rubbed her hands dry before directing a sharp exhalation to the ceiling. "Fine," she relented, tossing the cloth onto the counter and fastidiously averting her gaze from her sister who was no doubt beaming with victory. "But just a couple of hours. And keep Snow off my back."

Suddenly, she found herself wrapped in a warm embrace; one she encouraged, awkwardly, with a stroke of her sister's back. "Thanks Claire." Lightning heard the genuine gratitude in her sister's voice as she drew back to show the brilliant smile stretched across her face. "It'll be fun, I promise!"

Light watched her sister pull away and collect her bowl of food from the work surface, flashing another happy grin at the soldier before skipping through to the lounge to take her seat.

Somehow, Farron was unconvinced.

* * *

><p>Streaks of silver slid across the bonnet and roof of Lightning's car as it raced through the night under lonely lamplight, taking corners tightly, yet smoothly, before powering ahead with renewed vigor, ruby tail lights shrinking to pin points in the distance.<p>

The love of speed was a personal weakness of the soldier, and her stint as a L'Cie had only deepened the affection. She felt silly sometimes, missing Odin like she did; it was doubtful that the others had felt quite as strongly for their own Eidolans as she had – well, except maybe Fang, who reminisced about Bahamut on a regular basis. Light grit her teeth together when she realised she was thinking of the Oerban again, and angrily tugged on the wheel, swooping the vehicle to the left and into the car park where she steered them into a snug space between a jeep and a hatchback.

"_Damn_, sis!" Snow grumbled from the backseat, rubbing at his thick neck gingerly and grimacing. "Thanks for the whiplash back there."

Lightning scowled at him in the rear-view mirror, then smirked noticing his discomfort. "No problem, '_bro'," _she sneered, turning off the engine and unfolding herself from the driver's seat. There was a change in air pressure as she swung shut the car door and locked it; a sudden freshness in the breeze that she recognised as the threat of rain. Sure enough, within moments, she felt the drops of moisture fall against her skin, heard its pitter- patter on the concrete and metal rooftops all around as it quickly evolved into a gentle hiss. Lightning hunched her shoulders and tugged at the collar of her military overcoat before racing after her companions who were already sheltering under a canopy on the other side of the street.

Biblio used to be a book shop – one Lightning had been very fond of. They were independent traders when they had been in business, stocking old and forgotten texts, bound so lovingly with an almost reverent care. She remembered the musty smell that hung in the air above the shelves, the taste of dust and dryness in her mouth as she wandered through that graveyard of ideas. The store was often empty – except for her – something that had encouraged the loner in her to return time and time again.

But Biblio was now a restaurant; _the_ restaurant, according to Serah – Lightning had begun to wonder at that admission exactly when her sister had become such a food snob; yet another glaring inconsistency between the younger Farron and her chosen partner; one which only served to make their relationship all the more perplexing to the soldier.

All things considered, the prospects of Lightning actually liking this place were looking bleak from the outset. Despite the fact that she wasn't best pleased about being dragged there in the first place, the very knowledge that the eatery had been carved out of the carcass that was once a much-loved store weighed heavily against its chances. It wasn't just that though. She was aware just how much her tastes could differ from her sister's and a strong sense of foreboding passed over her, warning of the pretention and banality that was sure to be prevalent from the moment they entered the premises.

Her suspicions were of course confirmed as they filtered through the restaurant doors and waited to be seated . The managers had obviously found the book shop idea rather quaint because they had retained the theme: a couple of battered-leather reading chairs had been abandoned in the most illogical of places, presumably to highlight just how wonderfully laidback the atmosphere was _supposed_ to be. In actual fact, all that did was present an obstacle for the waiting staff to tackle each time they roamed past. The walls were freshly painted in a cream colour, but were obscured by mahogany shelves of cheaply made mis-matched paperbacks; the very thought of such uninspired, innocuous philosophies looming over her while she ate was enough to chase away Farron's appetite and she made a mental note to order something light.

She scowled about the premises as they were led to their table in the centre of the room; the buzzing din of inane chatter filled her ears, punctuated by the odd uproar of laughter from somewhere outside of her field of vision; utensils scraped against porcelain plates – grated away at her patience – and above it all played a soundtrack of lazy swing music, which, to be fair, was pleasant enough, if a little affected.

But all of that paled in comparison, dissipated, vanished at the next sound that was to find her ears.

"Well, well..." came the voice, unmistakeable in a somnolent Pulsian lilt. "If it ain't Sergeant Farron."

A tsunami of trepidation crashed down upon the soldier as she slowly turned around to find herself staring into the face of a smirking Pulsian, standing right next to her, hand on hip, looking a little too pleased with herself for Lightning's tastes. The soldier stood there looking at her impassively for a moment – her reason _now_ deciding to excuse itself for the time being.

"Hello to you too, stranger," Fang prompted, shifting the weight on her hips, naturally drawing Lightning's attention to them. Farron swept her eyes down the length of Fang's body: she was dressed in an asymmetric black cocktail dress that flowed all the way to the floor, emphasising her statuesque physique; a wild pattern of gold was woven around the trim and area just below the slope of her chest and watching her change stance, her hawk-like eyes detected a long slit up the skirt that revealed a tease of the taut legs below.

She forgot herself for a moment; consigned where she was and whoever was watching to oblivion. In the recesses of her mind she existed, yes, but only in penumbra to Fang's iridescence; each shade she turned, she glowed more brightly... Lightning only grew darker. It was impossible to care about much else with this tunnel vision she was experiencing, but _Etro_ how her thoughts were ravishing her.

She knew this would happen, seeing Fang when she was like this; sick in her heart...sicker in her head. Her blood was screaming in her veins for release and it was solely her heroic restraint that kept it silenced.

Lightning met the Pulsian's gaze defensively, desperate for her myopia to pass. Would Fang see the anguish behind her eyes? That kaleidoscope of perversion? More to the point, would she even care?

She studied her for a further moment, relieved to find no trace of aversion in her reaction. "Hey," she offered disaffectionately, shrugging off her coat, revealing a dark grey button-down shirt underneath that hugged her slight curves; she had rolled its sleeves up neatly to just below her elbows. Her pants were fitted too, but black and as she folded her coat over the crook of her arm, she realised in abject horror that she had forgotten to remove the bracelet Fang had given her for her birthday. As she patted the coat down over her arm, she watched the Oerban in the corner of her eye – she saw the grin, as wide as her eyes no doubt were. _Damnit, no removing it now._

"Vanille! Fang!" Serah called to them cheerfully, welcoming them to the table with the friendly smile Lightning was yet to master. "What are you two doing here, huh?"

A sensible question, the soldier thought, allowing her mind to turn to it. She nodded to Vanille seeing the dazzling grin she directed at her before giggling and turned with the Pulsians as they walked away from her and around the table.

"Hey guys! This is crazy! What are they chances we all end up here at the same time, huh?" Vanille chirped happily.

_What are the chances indeed..._

"Hey, I guess you guys've just got some wicked taste." Snow's contribution, followed by a chorus of laughter.

"Wow, you two look _great,"_ Serah complimented, taking a step back and appraising their garb. In her daze, Lightning hadn't really noticed that Vanille, too, was dressed in a fashionable, sleeveless dress that looked...okay, she guessed. She wasn't quite sure how to compare her to Fang, but she _was_ now incredibly curious about their reasons for being in _this_ restaurant looking like _that_ .

And then, as if by divine providence, the answer presented itself in the form of two, rain-soaked stragglers approaching their table with some purpose. Lightning turned her head towards them, her arms firmly locked across her chest, defensively. One was male – reasonably tall, but not as tall as Snow. His build was a lot slimmer too, a little gangly, Lightning thought. The other was female, a little shorter than her, but not by much. Her hair was dark brown or black – it was difficult to tell, being damp, but she still looked pleasant enough, if a little...ordinary.

"Hey, here they are!" Fang smiled, turning to face the newcomers.

A sudden pulse of outrage ripped through Light's being as she watched the woman lean close to Fang; plant a chaste kiss on the side of her cheek. And Fang was watching her. Her eyes were fixed on Lightning the whole time. Was it conniption or was it confusion reigning within her in that moment? Light had no idea. Her feelings were quite unobtainable as she watched this woman place a possessive hand on the small of Fang's back, let it linger there as they embraced...

Vanille made the introductions, though Lightning paid little attention at first, still pre-occupied with the scene unfolding before her eyes; still wrestling with the belief that Fang might have actually staged this whole affair, just to provoke some sort of response from her. The Pulsian probably had no understanding of what a mistake that was...

As it turned out, the newcomers were siblings – Yan and Pippa. It had taken the soldier a good few minutes to digest the corny nature of their double date – and still found it rather unacceptable. Of course Pippa had to properly acquaint herself with Lightning because she'd "just heard _so_ much" about her; when Farron merely glowered at that sweaty, enthusiastic palm thrust before her, Serah had audibly cleared her throat and politely suggested that they all join them for dinner.

Super.

The proceeding events had all happened so quickly...were such that Lightning was certain that she had blanked out completely and had been running on auto-pilot. All too soon she found herself, incomprehensibly, helping to join the Pulsians' table with their own, pulling out her chair (which would have to be directly opposite Fang's , wouldn't it?) and sitting down, pinning the Oerban with a piercing scowl. She hated this – she felt like a fool. She wanted to leave, to be _anywhere_ other than sharing a table with Fang and this pathetic excuse of a human being.

The more she listened to her nonsense, the more she began to resent Fang for pretending to be interested in it. She saw how her eyes glossed over and watered as Pippa droned on about her father's business; how they were focussed on the napkin in front of her and not that needy hand on the table, edging towards her intrusively.

After the first few glasses of wine had been quaffed, the conversation took an inevitable dive into murky waters, where Yan and Pippa regaled the table with tales of drunkenness and debauchery. Unsurprisingly, Lightning kept her opinions to herself. She understood the concept of a one-night stand, but it wasn't something that had ever appealed - you couldn't get anything done...

She sat quietly, rarely shifting her focus from her plate of food. She was determined to ignore the looks she felt Fang giving her from across the table. Over an hour into the meal and she was still uncertain how she felt about what had transpired: one part of her wanted her hands around Fang's throat; the other wanted her head between her legs. A sick part of her wanted a bit of both. Could she fault the Oerban for such puerile attention-seeking? If indeed that was the game she was playing. Farron was a difficult person to know at the best of times...so troublesome to decipher. She was aware of this, because she made it so. Lightning always got her way in the end – she was still a spoiled little girl at heart.

" – and _he _said 'Oh! Well, I hope it's not contagious!'"

A wave of charitable laughter washed over the table, crashing against Lightning's stony countenance as the plates were collected by a remarkably patient waiter. She hadn't been listening for a good twenty minutes; hadn't raised her head to even acknowledge the conversation.

It was just so typical that when she did choose to lift her eyes, she found herself held in a malachite gaze. The world fell away around her; like dominos, each dimension tumbled – and in the void, that nothing-place that existed only because she wanted it to, was Fang. Lightning knew that she should have looked away in that moment, that instant of realisation, but she didn't – she_ couldn't_. Insidious tendrils of viridian green slithered between them, coiled up and around Lightning's chest where they _teased _and_ squeezed_. She felt the air in her lungs leave her through her parted lips, felt the muscle in her chest contract and throb for freedom. Fang was winning this time – it was unacceptable.

She couldn't take any more of this; it was completely ridiculous. Suddenly, she pushed away from the table, the legs of her chair screeching loudly along the wooden floor and putting a swift end to the vapid exchanges going on at the end of the table. As she stood, widened eyes followed her, then narrowed in their demand of an explanation. Her attention somehow found Serah, who looked more concerned than any of the others at her sister's abrupt interruption.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Lightning stated matter-of-factly, not really caring in the least that she had disrupted their conversation, and spun on her heel, weaving her way amongst the tables as she left them – and Fang – far behind her.

She was thankful to find the bathrooms empty; all too often these places seemed to serve as another social area in which to mingle, with gaggles of giggling girls loitering in front of the wash basins and being generally rather irritating indeed. Lightning didn't quite comprehend the appeal of networking in a lavatory, but she supposed that since the majority of the flow exchanged between such patrons was excrement, a toilet was as good a place as any.

She stood in front of the ivory-coloured marble sinks and stared at herself in the mirror above them. Even the hiss of the running tap couldn't distract her from the darkness in her eyes; the darkness she reserved for Fang – and no other. It rose up, stealthily at first, then reared, wrestling control from the soldier amidst thunderous rhythms from a heart-shaped war drum. Her unsteady hands sought the edges of the wash basin, desperate in their need for stability; she let her head hang low from her shoulders as she gently pitched forward until her forehead touched the cool glass. She longed to fall into that reflection, to disappear from this place completely. She had never foreseen feeling this way...torn apart by vulnerability and power.

When the bathroom door creaked open, she didn't even need to cast her eyes in that direction to identify Fang's presence.

She watched her in her periphery, saw her place her clutch on the ledge and study her own reflection in the mirror. She wasn't going into one of the cubicles – Lightning bet she had never planned to. Instead, she stood there calmly, leaning into the mirror under the overhead spotlight and running a slender finger along her glossy lips. And Lightning could _smell_ her – not just her perfume, not just her coconut-almond smelling shampoo that instantly conjured in her mind memories of sun-soaked sand and laughter – Farron detected that channel of lukewarm moisture trickling down her bare back, her alcohol-tinged breath, that..._river_ running between her thighs.

And then there was a sigh.

"Are you avoidin' me?"

The soldier closed her eyes, letting that silken voice wrap around her head_. Damn her_. Damn this woman; that song that would lure her to a watery end, that body...that body that begs to be broken...

"Light?"

Light...Lightning Farron...yes...that was her. _Snap out of it, soldier._ She eased open her eyes and turned her head, finding the Pulsian now staring at her, a delicate frown worn between her eyes.

"What?" the soldier asked, genuinely unsure of whatever it was she had asked of her.

"It's been days..." Fang pressed. "I've tried callin'..." Light could hear the notes of disappointment in her tone – they shone through her frustration like the sun through the trees, finding the soldier's face and heating it in the same way.

"Yeah..." she drawled at she straightened herself, glancing away and becoming a little annoyed that she now had to stare at a line of lavatories. "Work," she added lamely, scowling now and not just because of her line of vision. Fang snorted derisively at that – not that Light blamed her - and turned back to face her reflection.

"Right."

Light could feel the acid simmering in the huntress' voice; it felt so wrong that she found it so arousing. So passionate was the huntress – she'd seen it on the battlefield; her raw energy, her feline grace, her stubborn determination to have it her way...she and Lightning weren't so different in those respects. Perhaps that was part of the reason why they were at this impasse.

"Looks like you've been busy yourself," Light said, sounding bitterer than she had mean to.

She watched Fang lower her head at that; saw her fiddle with the front of her dress.

"She seems to know what she wants at least." There was an edge to her tone now; a challenge.

"Is that enough for you?"

"Maybe that's my lot. In a place like this anyway...now."

"Tch." Lightning sneered derisively as she made for the exit. She knew Fang didn't believe that – was all too aware that she was more perceptive than that; she knew that if she wasn't cautious, if she didn't leave right away, she would stay and willingly show her as much.

"D'you always start things you don't mean to finish?" Fang asked, almost urgently, noticing Lightning's retreat.

The soldier halted at that, frozen by the iciness in the sentiment. Or maybe it was something else – indignation,_ infuriation_ at an assertion so bold. The implication was transparent - there was no ambiguity in what the woman meant. Lightning knew instantly what she was referring to. She let her displeasure show in her eyes that narrowed slightly as they focussed through the light. A reflection was a poor imitation of Fang, a carbon copy, a fake – and as she stared into it, she swore it looked uglier by the second. It wasn't enough, to admonish the artificial, to chastise the cheat...such recklessness demanded more.

"What if I said I wanted you to?" Fang continued...her tone now achingly honest. "To finish what you started."

And thus the erudition creeped so slowly, across that bathroom floor, along Lightning's skin; confirmation was sweet, yet left her mouth tasting bitter. Fang had no understanding what it was she was asking of Farron; she was blissfully ignorant of the menace that craved for her.

Lightning took her time in closing the distance between their bodies; she let her measured footsteps clap against the floor tiling - let her approach resonate within the Pulsian's head. Fang was a seething fury of pent-up frustration: exasperation,lasciviency, distress – it was all there...all there because Lightning was there, behind her, close to her, holding her captive within her darkened expression. Farron stopped when she could hear Fang's shallow breathing – the quiver prominent in each exhale and each inhale that make her chest swell and catch the light that dripped down the valley of her breasts so sensually. She felt feathers of Fang's raven tresses tickle her nose as she gingerly tilted her face towards her own; she'd stripped herself of all that bravado - she stood there bare, for Lightning.

Coasting on that licentious high, Lightning hovered by her shoulder so close to her, but not daring to touch. She remained there for a moment, silent, letting Fang's form accommodate the presence of her own. Such heat built between their bodies, Lightning felt herself sweating as she leaned into the Oerban's neck, deriving so much pleasure, _too much _pleasure from the proximity.

"It's so very difficult for me to say no to you, Fang," she breathed, letting the tip of her nose _just_ brush against her jaw as she lifted her mouth to her ear. "You really have no idea..." She watched them both in the mirror along the side of her penchant's face; let Fang see the black inside her eyes so she _knew_ to assign some significance to her words.. "So...you need to do yourself a favour," she whispered darkly, "... and don't tempt me."

Her pain seared white as she ripped herself away from the Pulsian...the one that needed steadying now. She didn't know what Fang's next move would be – she didn't want to know. What she wanted was to be alone and secure again. That's why she left her there, at the height of her vulnerability: to humour her vacuous date who was getting more intoxicated by the minute; to fuck her, if that's what she needed to make Lightning suffer.


	5. deceptively simple

_A/N_

_Long ass chapter is long. _

_Seriously, pee first._

* * *

><p><em>v. Deceptively Simple<em>

_Two Steps From Hell – Fragments of Deception/_ T_chaikovsky - Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy/Jack Wall – Reflections_

_How does one articulate a feeling?_

_How do I begin to express it - at all?_

_Silence is confounding when you depend so heavily on words of validation – but we are more than the words we speak, aren't we? I am more than the confessions I offer up daily – I exceed any description you would care to make._

_The truth is that no one can feel these feelings like I do – and your first mistake is in your efforts to try to. _

_Release yourself from that burden – it blinds you to the obvious that is staring you in the face. _

_There is always more to what meets the eye – but let's start slow, shall we?_

* * *

><p>"I can't believe this shit...I just can't believe it. Are they fucking kidding me? Nuggets? Again?"<p>

"Yup. It's a damn liberty, huh? Nothin' like having a pack of greens watch your six on patrols."

"Shit. Someone needs to tell the Major that there are easier ways to kill me."

"Heh, yeah, tell me about it. Hey, you hear Traberts and Hux are transferring?"

"What? No way!"

"Yes way. Once the papers are through, they're goners, man."

"Damn... Traberts has a nice ass as well."

"Yeah...and I'm sure her husband thinks so too."

This was typical of the calibre of conversation that she had come to expect from the mess hall at the barracks. The main line of discussion really didn't seem to matter all that much when it came to the introduction of these charming tangential elements concerning the female anatomy; it was actually kind of impressive, the creativity used to steer virtually any topic into the gutter. Impressive but completely meritorious of a smack in the mouth. Light wasn't entirely sure why she still bothered to listen in anymore; she'd always overhear something that she felt the need to chew them out about at a later date. But the behaviour had become habitual now, so here she was, eavesdropping from her table with her back to them, trying to figure out when she became such a masochist for their pointless drivel.

"Pfft. Details. That'll be...what, four? Four in two months?"

"Something like that, yeah. All I know is if they keep bringin' any more damn kids to replace decent officers, this place could double as a day care centre."

She arched a brow and suppressed a shudder at the very idea. That might be exaggerating the point somewhat, but there _had_ been a lot of transfers lately. Every week that went by, she seemed to be surrounded by new faces – fresh and eager, mostly, though some certainly wore their years better than others.

"I dunno, there's something not right about it, you know? Farquar can't remember the ranks being so disjointed and you _know_ what an old fossil he is."

"Oh, so what, you're a conspiracy theorist now? You need to lighten up, man. See the bright side! Like all the new eye candy we're getting."

Lightning snorted and rolled her eyes at the kid's libido, before stacking her tray, readying to depart.

"Yeah, yeah, rag on me all you like, but I was talking to Shao the other day; he swears he saw that Pontini guy...what's his first name? Angelo? Yeah, Angelo Pontini...the bigwig rebuilding the East end districts...he saw him coming out of Amodar's office. Claims the LT looked damn shook up...like, _afraid_ you know? What do you make of that, smart ass?"

"Pontini, huh? Isn't he the guy with the dumb, hot daughter? Porscia? Penny...?"

"It's Pippa, you idiot. And man, do you got a one-track mind or something? You didn't hear a damn word I just said."

_Pippa? Pippa's Angelo Pontini's daughter? _ Well, that certainly explained away some of her eccentricities. Light knew little beyond what the media portrayed about the wealthy family. Angelo Pontini was, as one news channel had gushed, an "intergalactic business Godzilla", owning many of the large corporations that were helping to fund the on-going reconstruction of Bodhum. He had been described as cut-throat in his professional life, but by all accounts seemed to be quite the philanthropist in his charitable affairs – the Pontini conglomeration was even funding this year's Masquerade – which was assured to be the most extravagant yet. She'd never given the business realm much consideration in the past, but thinking of it now, it _did_ seem rather peculiar that she hadn't heard much about this guy in the past. The media had never mentioned much about Pontini's children – though the socialite reputation attributed to his daughter certainly fit the persona of the woman she'd shared dinner with a few weeks ago.

"Of course I heard you, I'm sitting right here, aren't I? What, none of the rest of us can fantasise about chicks because you're still hot for Farron? Or should I say Sergeant Scowler? Haha! Man, she would _eat you alive!_"

Lightning froze for a moment, apprehensive of where this conversation was heading.

"Shut up."

"Haha! Knew it! Shit man, that's never gonna happen. You need to get over her."

"Please... like you wouldn't say yes to piece of _that_."

"Hey, if I wanted her, I could have her. Man, with my skills, she'd already be laid on her back and staked out by—"

The corporal's words were lost somewhere beneath his superior's tray that had seemingly materialised out of nowhere and landed in front of him with a very loud thwack. Lightning stood over him, arms folded across her chest, leering sinisterly and savouring the look of abject terror that flashed in his eyes as he realised she had overheard the whole damn thing.

"S-Sergeant Farron!" he stuttered, rising to his feet clumsily. "We...I...was just—"

"Suicide runs. Outside. Now." The sergeant jerked her head in the direction of the parade ground and glared at him, watching him gulp and nod enthusiastically before darting off, leaving his friend standing there in his wake under her narrowed eyes.

"Uh, I guess I should go too," he mumbled, making to leave before Farron hooked him by his arm and shoved him back down into his seat.

"No, I wanna talk to you," she demanded icily, trying hard not waste the ire she had for his companion on him. "What was that you were talking about? The bit about Pontini meeting with Amodar."

The corporal sat up in his chair, still looking thoroughly anxious. He frowned about himself, as if he was checking to make sure that nobody else was listening. _Little late for that, don't you think?_ "Well?" she prompted impatiently.

"I don't really know all that much, Ma'am. Private Shao was waiting outside the LT's office to talk to him – about the field exercise, you know? He was early for some reason, I don't know why; said he heard raised voices and soon after, Pontini left. They didn't shake hands or nothing. He just left Amodar standing there, looking pretty worried. That's all I know though, I swear!"

"Do you know who Shao's CO is?"

"Uh, Ma'am...he was transferred...end of last week, if memory serves."

"What?"

"Yeah...I remember because Dakhna had a crush on him, see, and he was gonna..." The corporal wisely trailed off at that point, noticing the tightening of the sergeant's jaw. He smiled diffidently before lowering his head and starting anew. "Don't you think it's kinda weird, ma'am? What's goin' on, I mean. It's all these little things, these new people...and you! Why haven't you been promoted yet? Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

Lightning wasn't in the habit of gossiping with her subordinates – or at all really – so said nothing. That is not to say that she was not ruminating over the corporal's concerns...some of which resonated rather deeply within her.

"What's your name?" she asked shortly.

"Kavan, ma'am. Corporal Tyr Kavan."

"Well...Kavan. You might want to take greater care over what you choose to divulge in places like these. You never know who might be listening, huh?"

He looked at her with a very sheepish expression before agreeing with her and nodding, watching her strut towards the parade ground where she had some attitude to iron out.

* * *

><p><em>My careless, chaotic city...your lights are blushing at the night...<em>

Patrolling this part of town was not exactly what Lightning would describe as her calling. The coastal district was always very light on crime – the most serious offences amounting to tourist muggings or drunk and disorderly behaviour. Rarely was there any real action in these parts – and tonight was no different.

What was happening in the skies above her head seemed to be livelier than the empty streets this evening, with an angry tempest drifting in from the sea. The atmosphere was thick and electric and _swollen_ with the belligerent roars abounding across the blackness - evidence of the clash between storm clouds in their celestial rage. Deep and raucous was the thunder as it rolled along the distant hinterland, echoing in the abyss...melancholy ire.

This war over the heavens had never sounded so beautiful.

It hadn't started raining yet, but that was sure to follow. The weather had become incredibly unpredictable without the Fal'Cie's intervention to keep things nice and comfortable for the populace – not the Lightning really minded. There was something appealing about uncertainties, even small ones, such as this.

Striding along the pavement, she slowed when she noticed the news reel on one of the plasma screens in a shop window. It showed a well-dressed man with short, neat, grey hair shaking hands with another well-groomed man she recognised as Bodhum's Mayor. Underneath the video the caption read: _'Talks between business tycoon Angelo Pontini and Mayor Lydal ran smoothly today, with Pontini pledging over 600,000 gil to assist in the betterment of Central Bodhum's educational institutes and schools.'_ The headline reminded her of her earlier conversation with Kavan – of the peculiarities that had been occurring at work and this mysterious meeting between Amodar and Pontini. She'd already made a mental note to float the topic to Amodar when she was next available but she couldn't deny the corporal's story had certainly piqued her interest.

"He's the devil, that one."

Startled by the deep, rich voice, she spun around, finding no one standing beside her, but rather, sitting below her and to the side. Two weary eyes were staring at her through the darkness from the doorway of the shop. The way the man's legs were covered with dirty blankets gave the impression that he had no lower body at all – though the soldier was suspicious that was a trick of the light. The man was clearly homeless - there were more of them on the streets now than before; shelters that had been destroyed during the events over a year ago had been far down the list of priorities to rebuild.

"What did you say?" she asked him, a little surprised at herself for engaging him at all.

"I say he's the devil, yup. Him and that whole family."

Light took a moment to observe the man's surroundings. He'd amassed a sizeable collection of empty glass bottles of various type and colour and seemed to have them stacked possessively close to him.

"Yeah," she scoffed, "and did someone take a three martini lunch today?" She dipped her head in the direction of the bottles before placing a hand on her hip and bending her knee.

"Haha! Awe, I gets it! You's funny! But naw... I just collects 'em, see? Trade 'em in at Sally's for breakfast, yup."

Well...that made her feel like a bit of an ass.

"Oh..." she said lamely, feeling the need to cross her arms for some reason. "So what have you got against Pontini?" she asked, gesturing to the screen beside her with a jerk of her head.

"He's bad trouble is he. You gets a real unique view from these 'ere gutters, y'know. See things even yous soldiers miss. Ain't you noticed your buddies disappearin'? The ones with the talkin' broaches? Yeah...that Pontini, he's into much more than that biznesssss. Things seem quiet now, but still waters run deep, soldier girl. I's seen this before. Yup, I's seen it all. And I knows a devil when I seen one."

Farron couldn't quite understand why she felt herself so taken in by this pauper prophet, why she remained there frowning at him even after he'd finished speaking. She was ready to put some further questions to him when she heard a very high-pitched squeal assault her ears from the other side of the street. She glanced over immediately and had to blink once or twice to make sure that what she thought she was seeing was in fact happening...

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later and Lightning's car was parked outside Fang and Vanille's coastal bungalow. It was a fairly modest construction, not nearly as large as Lightning's home, but still strangely charming despite its unyielding tenacity to fiercely stamp the Pulsian culture on this area of Cocoon. From the roof overhanging the wooden porch dangled colourful dream catchers and a wind chime; from within the house she could just about make out the vestiges of boldly coloured drapes that no doubt beamed brighter in the sunshine. Light idly wondered how many aggravated neighbours the pair of them had had when she noticed what appeared to be a large spit and barbeque area, encircled by an assorted collection of empty beer and wine bottles. That make-shift training ground, complete with lance-impaled dummies, was also most likely a point of contention for the surrounding inhabitants.<p>

Sweeping her eyes over the driveway, Light noticed that their car was missing - and that the house lay in darkness. Fang must have been out..._somewhere_. There was no point in asking Vanille about it, obviously – she seemed content enough to drift in and out of consciousness with her face pressed up against the car window. Frankly, Farron wasn't all that keen on the prospect of waking her up again. Her unrivalled intoxication had turned her into somewhat of a brat, and the task of securing her in the car had proven to be a challenge of Herculean standard. Still, here they were – home sweet bloody home. She frowned at the bitter thoughts spoiling her concentration as she climbed out of the driver's seat and made her way around the bonnet of the car. The sea hissed in agitation from the increase in air pressure brought about by the thunderstorm rolling their way. Part of her wanted to turn around and yell right back at the tempest...but she was in a residential area and was not in the mood to be bothered.

"Hey..." Vanille asked drowsily as Light opened the passenger door. Her intonation very quickly sloped into slurred suspicion. "This is home. How did I get home?"

Light fought against the urge to roll her eyes and say something sarcastic, instead choosing to lean in and focus on undoing Vanille's seat belt. She grimaced as she reached over, not at all surprised that the petite redhead was stinking like a brewery and was back to blabbering like a demented budgerigar. _No, Vanille. You didn't drive yourself home. No...I don't have anything to eat. Yes, I daresay you feel a little "dizzy"._ The catch was released with a satisfying clunk-click and she brought the harness over Vanille's head before helping her out of the vehicle, taking care that she didn't bump her head on her exit. The soldier held her firmly around her waist, bringing her other arm around her neck where she held it there for support before setting out on the quest to the front door. Their movement was slow and laborious with Vanille stumbling around so clumsily; had she not been so concerned about her throwing up, Light might have just carried the girl, for ease. However, as they neared the porch, a stray thought slowed Lightning's progress.

"Vanille, have you got your keys?"

"Keys? Oh yeah!" she giggled. "They're in my bag."

Light frowned, watching her pat herself down absently with her free hand, noticing a conspicuous absence of any kind of bag. She hadn't recalled her wielding one outside the club either, but then her focus had been drawn to the two stilettos she had been using to wave at her more so than anything else.

"And where would that be?" she asked, halting their advance so her merry little accessory could concentrate.

"Huh..." the Pulsian sounded genuinely confused, continuing to grasp at empty air. "I don't know!" Apparently this was very funny, because she quickly erupted into another fit of giggles, each bout climbing in pitch.

"Wonderful," Lightning muttered flatly as she manoeuvred to sit her convulsing companion on the steps and moved to examine the door. She tested the handle, on the off-chance one of the Oerbans had been complacent – no such luck. Calmly, she took a few steps back, scowling at the threshold. It only had a rim lock as opposed to a mortice dead lock – those were easy to force open and fairly cheap to fix; however...breaking the door in would mean waiting around with Vanille while she sobered up – or until Fang showed herself. Neither option was particularly attractive at the moment and she was acutely aware of the approaching storm that growled above them as if to remind her of its presence.

"Plant pot!"

The shrill exclamation made Farron wince before glancing at the redhead who was doing her upmost to prevent herself from leaning obliquely into the nearby shrubbery. Her slim arm was held out before her, swaying leisurely in the strengthening zephyr, with dainty fingers pointing to somewhere behind Lightning. Or so the soldier assumed; it was not beyond the realms of possibility that Vanille was actually accusing _her_ of being said plant pot, given that she still appeared to be lost in the foggy haze only that only tequila slammers could provide. Feeling charitable, Light gave her the benefit of the doubt, and turned in the general direction Vanille indicated, attempting to shake that sense of following the white rabbit. Sure enough, on the corner of the porch was an upturned clay plant pot, doing a good job of not blending in – at all. The soldier couldn't decide whether the poor attempt at a hiding place was charming in its silliness, or just plain stupid – not that she supposed many of their neighbours were in the habit of breaking into the homes of Pulsian ex-l'Cie, much less those with lance-speared garden ornaments.

Using the sole of her boot, she tipped the pot over on its side which revealed dark, exotic emblems embossed around its surface. They shared a very similar style to that of Fang's tattoo, which got her wondering whether the huntress hid an artistic side – though her intuition told her that Fang would be much too impatient and restless for that type of thing. More likely, this was one of Vanille's endeavours – she knew she had been selling various pieces of art at the local crafts' markets held every weekend in central Bodhum. Light had been impressed by her talent when she had stolen brief moments from her patrols to visit her stall and say a quick hello. She couldn't recall having seen her with pottery before, but she was willing to attribute the creatorship to the younger Pulsian given the _sui generis _of circumstance.

She crouched down, narrowing her eyes to focus in the darkness, and ran her gloved hand over the decking by her feet. Amongst the dust and debris, her hand stopped groping when she felt a small, metallic object, its form too deliberate, too precise to be something made in nature. Light stood with it and turned toward the distant lamplight to better examine it. The key looked like the right fit she thought as she positioned herself in front of the door and tried it in the lock. The door sighed open smoothly, sucking in the evening air and breathing out a heady aroma of spice and indiscriminate sweetness. Light closed her eyes for a moment, indulging in the scent that reminded her so strongly of Fang. It was strangely inviting, warming...a smell that instantly relaxed her, made her feel more at home than she did even in her own house. That same sensation of alleviation also made her a little suspicious, however; she recalled Fang's use of herbal incense having a very similar effect over a number of guests during the course of one birthday celebration, but for different reasons entirely. At any rate, she would have detected and recognised those grassy hints here, and she hadn't seen Fang use the stuff ever since she'd voiced her disapproval. That in itself was kind of interesting.

"Hey! You got it!" Vanille chirped happily, cutting across Lightning's musings. The soldier opened her eyes and shifted her gaze to the Oerban who was now in the midst of a heroic struggle to stand up, and winning, surprisingly. Light frowned as she began walking over to her, noting the considerable wobble in her footing as she suddenly turned to face the house and attempted to take the stairs in one large leap, resulting in some rather predictable consequences. Vanille's right foot caught the bottom step as she launched herself from the ground into the air, tripping her and changing her trajectory mid-flight, dragging her body down. Lightning moved instinctually, catching her in a strong hold underneath her arms and cursing darkly as she dragged the Oerban to her feet roughly.

"Vanille! Are you _trying_ to get yourself hurt tonight?" Farron asked irritably, allowing herself a moment to glare at her before changing her hold to that of a human crutch again and moving them inside the house. As they stumbled inside, Lightning glanced back and kicked the door shut behind her, creating a satisfying whack that echoed down the hallway with their footsteps.

"M-maybe..." she thought she heard Vanille mumble softly as she hung her head and began to sniffle. After a moment, she heard soft whimpering, like...

"Vanille?" They were nearly in what looked like the lounge, but Light paused to regard the Pusian when she was given no discernable response. "Vanille? Are you...crying?" Farron was frowning now, a little bewildered by the sudden mood change, but from experience had enough sense not to question the drunk any further and just dragged her onward into the open-plan lounge.

As she dropped the redhead into the nearest armchair, the soft whimpering escaping her crooked mouth escalated into unmistakable wails.

"Light!" As inconsolable as her grief seemed, there was a trace of exasperation in her tone; cutting – but bluntly. "Why doesn't he like me anymore?"

"Uh..." The soldier looked at her blankly, reflecting her vacant mind state at that precise moment. It wasn't that she wasn't concerned about Vanille's well-being – she just had little interest in discussing her melodramatic quest for romance. Just enough light filtered in through the large patio doors to highlight the streaks of saline running down her pallid cheeks; her mascara and eyeliner were a mess too – not that she supposed she would care. Her fringe appeared tousled and damp, probably from the way she kept bunching it up within her fingers each time she moved to hold her head in her hands...and all the while the wails continued.

"He hasn't answered his wireless all night! And he _knows_ I was going out to the clubs. He used to _always_ call when I went out. It was so...it was so...sweeeeeet."

Light looked about herself – she wasn't exactly sure why. Perhaps it was her instincts driving her to find something heavy to knock her out with; perhaps she just felt the need to do _something_ other than stand there dumbly. Returning her attention to the sobbing Pulsian, she sighed softly and settled on folding her arms over her chest. The rain had started outside – she could hear it battering against the windows in between sobs and claps of thunder.

"Is it 'cause I'm too old for him? How could he change his mind overnight? It doesn't make any sense!"

_Etro. All this over Hope?_ "I'll get you some water," she said quietly, observing her for a further moment. "It'll calm you down." With that, she turned and made her way to their kitchen, searching various cupboards for a tumbler. Annoyingly, the shelves were not ordered at all. In _her_ home, she had a cupboard for everyday dishes and bowls, another for tumblers and mugs, one for fine dining wear, yet another for crystal glassware and so on; it was meticulously organised and therefore superior. No one had any trouble finding something in Lightning's kitchen. But the Oerban's cupboards were very frustrating. Even in the cabinets where someone had clearly marked "dishes" on a slightly faded post-it, she found mis-matched mugs, wineglasses and even some random utensils which evidently belonged with the others on the rack by the sink. Light scowled and moved onto another cupboard, too distracted in her search to notice the front door of the bungalow opening and closing, or the fall of footsteps down the hallway and into the lounge.

"Vanille...?" Light froze, that angry thunder outside no longer any competition for the drum roll within her chest. A deep, calming timbre floated through the air to the kitchen, reaching Light's ears like gentle kisses against delicate skin. Her hands found the countertop on which she steadied herself, _braced_ herself for the next wave of golden melody to rush her head, her chest, her everything. She felt her fingertips begin to sweat, a heat rise and settle in her cheeks as that voice continued to drift, finding her every time, in the stillness, in the dark.

"Vanille, what happened? Are y'okay?" _Sultry, sinful, sodden, save me._ "C'mere, shhh, shhh. C'mon now, it's okay... I'm here. What happened?"

"Hope doesn't want me anymore and I tried to get a cab with my shoes but Lightning found me and had to use the plant pot!" she blurted loudly before crumpling into another bout of tears.

"Awh you dafty. You've just had a rough night n' - wait, Light found you?"

She'd found a glass by the point and had filled it; was watching the scene unfold from the doorway between the lounge and kitchen. She figured Fang's keen senses probably would have detected her sooner had she not been preoccupied with her younger sister's emotional state, but at any rate, the soldier's soft clearing of the throat immediately alerted the huntress to her presence.

Fang was sitting on the edge of Vanille's chair, an arm wrapped around her lovingly, but her eyes conveyed nothing of that sentiment as they bored into Lightning's gaze. She looked surprised, certainly, but also something else...something abstruse.

"Hey..." the Pulsian almost whispered, her tone warm but laced with a trace of confusion. She did not remove her eyes from Farron as she walked towards her and bent down, carefully placing the glass of water on the table separating them. As she straightened again, Light met that malachite sling she kept falling into, kept wrapping herself up in. Even in the darkness of the room, those almond-shaped windows twinkled with moments and wants unsatisfied, unmet; perhaps she could see a silent demand in her regard, voicing the confusion and frustration within that she'd felt over these past weeks. But there was still a soft dignity about her, one that made clear she was above begging for her answers.

"I found her in town," Light explained, nodding to Vanille who had quietened down considerably now Fang was here, holding her. "She was..." _pissed out of her head,_ _trying to hail down a taxi with her stiletto_, "in a bad way," she said diplomatically. "Thought it best to bring her home."

"Yeah," Fang chuckled softly, glancing at the redhead whose face was hidden, buried in her sister's neck, mumbling something about feeling tired. "She never could take her booze. Shoulda seen her the night of your birthday...flyin' without a plane, I tell ya."

Maybe it was the sense of relief she felt in getting Vanille home safe to her sister, or how damn comfortable this house was, putting her at ease; Etro forbid that is was Fang's laughter making her smile like this, diffidently but earnestly, as she shook her head as if to admonish the siblings' impish natures. That swell of pleasure she felt rising in her chest, playing across her lips made her forget her earlier jealousy and ire; Fang's beauty, her kindness, playfulness, hidden gentleness...how strange that it took the darkness of this foreign room to remind her of all of these things.

She watched Fang stand with Vanille, her attention focussed on supporting her sleepy sister who grumbled about being disturbed, but offered very little physical resistance. "C'mon, Squirt," she said, throwing a lifeless arm around her neck, "let's get you to bed, eh?" Light tugged the table back, allowing them room to shuffle out awkwardly, noticing Fang's smile and nod as a thank you. She followed them down the hall with Vanille's glass of water, feeling a little useless otherwise, and hovered outside of the younger Oerban's room as Fang laid her on her bed, speaking soft words of comfort that the soldier couldn't quite make out from her position. After a few moments, Fang re-appeared, closing the door quietly behind her; Light realised she was just staring at the glass of water she was holding.

"I thought she could do with this," Farron explained, feeling silly holding the tumbler so reverently between her palms like this and wondering why her voice suddenly sounded so gentle. Fang didn't say anything – she only appeared to frown into the strange distortions of shapes and shadows the glass and liquid reflected. In the stillness, Lightning stole a moment to observe the Pulsian's attire: slim black jeans and a silver, sequined strappy top, cut low enough to accentuate her cleavage – date clothes if she ever saw them. She could smell a putrid mix of sweat and alcohol on her too and her mind began to darken – her mood soon following. No doubt the souring showed in that crease forming between her brows as she turned to the small hallway table and placed the water down with an audible thud.

"Well..." she said, her tone having regained its usual coolness; her gaze shifting to the front door. "I should get going." A beat passed in which she moved to make her exit; one which was filled by a growl from the storm crouching above and the more welcome tenor of a Pulsian lilt.

"Wait, Light..." Fang said suddenly, as if that crack of thunder had snapped her out of her reverie. Light halted and looked over her shoulder at the Oerban who was watching her through softened eyes that petitioned an audience.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe...maybe you should stay. The storm's pretty bad out – dangerous to drive, right?"

As if to answer her question, the wind picked up, gusting through the letter box that chattered and whistled, causing the Pulsian to shiver involuntarily. The movement did not go unnoticed by the soldier who arched a brow as she turned to face the raven-haired woman and regard her properly.

"Hold on. You're not...afraid...of the storm, are you, Fang?" she asked, fascinated by the stiffening of her posture and the flash of trepidation in her eyes almost as bright as the lightning outside.

"What? Naw...'course not! It's just—_Etro!_" Another roar from the outside tempest forced the huntress to flinch and grasp at the wall behind her for some sort of support.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Light laughed, placing a hand on her hip and gesturing at Fang with her other. "_You're_ afraid of a little lightning?" The question fell between them in an awkward sort of silence. She felt a little guilty for poking fun at the fact when she saw the Pulsian's humiliation in the form of her lowered eyes, her nervous rub of her wrist. Honestly, it was a little irritating, how this woman kept surprising her; it only served to remind Lightning how little she really knew of her – how much she had failed to notice about her in her determination to ignore her own feelings. And she couldn't understand this proposal either; this suggestion that she stay here, with her. Her, of all people. It had been weeks since they'd spoken – Light hadn't answered or returned any of her calls. Had she made a mistake in avoiding Fang? Had all this pushing only pulled her in? She really couldn't say for sure; the motives were unclear. Neither did they seem to matter as she watched the Oerban shudder again, a burst of brightness momentarily highlighting the alarm in her eyes, and cracking that icy facade encircling the soldier's heart.

"Alright...yeah..." Farron said quietly, tilting her head slightly in her regard of Fang. "I'll stay."

* * *

><p>She'd insisted that she take her bed, but Lightning would have none of it. How could she be expected to sleep wrapped in sheets that smelled so strongly of Fang? As calming as she found it, lying in her bed, swimming in her scent, drowning in dreams of her body beside her, underneath her, <em>within <em>her...that called for too much restraint. It asked too much of her when her feelings were ravishing her like this. No. The couch would be fine – she wasn't actually planning on resting here, anyway.

Fang had fixed them some tea before disappearing to shower. Light wondered if she'd noticed the relief wash over her when the Pulsian explained she'd taken a part-time bar job at a club in town. Tonight had been her first night – she'd tried to make an impression with her dress. Light was certain that she had, but had not been as bold as to voice those sentiments. Instead she had merely sipped at her tea, staring out the patio doors at the raging storm, keeping her thoughts - and her feelings - to herself.

When she heard a hairdryer blowing from the bedroom, Light made her way to the bathroom to wash up and change into the white tank top Fang had loaned her to sleep in. The soldier hadn't asked for such hospitality, but was glad when Fang offered – her day had been long and arduous; her muscles testified to that with all their complaints and the shading she noticed below her eyes betrayed the composure and alertness she otherwise projected.

Having changed, she stepped out of the bathroom and began padding down the hallway in her bare feet, her arms clutching her uniform to her chest and her naked legs feeling the chill from the draft blowing underneath the door. It was only a very casual glance in the wrong – _the right? _– direction, that arrested her advance; a fluke, an accident – pick your term – what mattered was that she had stopped here, by Fang's door that was gaping ajar, allowing a sliver of warm amber light to streak Lightning's face as she moved closer, breath caught somewhere in her throat, like the heartbeat she was struggling to swallow down.

Her skin appeared golden in the bedside lamp's glare, like she were moving through a pool of liquid sunlight that clung to her body with each movement she made. Her dark hair was dry now and as wild as ever as she fiddled with a braid, the rest of it cascading over her shoulders and back. Watching her standing in profile, Light's eyes traced the swells and plains of her perfect body; they were trained on every inch of that exquisite form, and did not leave it, not even as the huntress removed her towel completely - tossed it somewhere out of sight - out of mind...at least for Lightning. She wanted to feel dirty for watching this, this...peep show. She wanted to feel ashamed and disgusted with herself. But she didn't. No – not at all. Nothing about this felt wrong; nothing about this made her want to shy away. All she felt was a growing magnetism – stronger than those charged ions in the atmosphere; a natural pull that could only be hindered by that river running between her thighs. She supposed her imagination wasn't being much help, running scenes in her head with her mind's projector.

_I see you standin' there, Light. I know you're watchin' me...this...you want this, don't you? You have for a long time..._

Her eyes closed briefly, blinding her mind, willing her depravation away. When she opened them again, Fang was still there, still so perfectly oblivious as she rubbed her creamy moisturiser over her chest, into her olive skin there, and further down...

_I do this for you, y'know? All of it. I ache for you like nothin' else...every...damn...night. You see the way I run these hands over my body, they way I'm touchin' myself right now? It's how I want it, how I want _you_. I want you over me, astride me, _inside_ me...I want to _know_ you, Light...you and no other._

She felt the burn in her face and the way her skin was weeping from this torture – that's why she was thankful for the particularly strong draft creeping in from outside that fanned her down; revived her senses. But it was that same mischievous, sneaky breeze that latched onto Fang's door, that tugged it further open with an audible creak, as if deciding of its own accord that the playing field should be better evened.

The scantily clad soldier stood wide-eyed and mute, her parted lips doing nothing to aid the troublesome task of breathing under this piercing emerald gaze. She wasn't quite sure why she felt the tightness in her chest when her rational mind kept reminding her that she was being pinned through her eyeballs. It was difficult to hear that reason over the voice screaming through her mind, tempting her to all manner of things. _Tease the beast, tease the beast, tease...don't please...dream of all those consequences to ease._ In the end, she settled on doing nothing. She merely stood there, motionless, never daring to look away – how cowardly that would be. No, it was Fang who broke their stare first – it was she who, in her silent acquiescence, allowed Lightning to remain there, watching, as she replaced the bottle of moisturiser on her dresser, pulled on her shorts and tank top with such feline grace – all without a word, without objection.

In the recesses of her mind – the areas that were somehow still functioning – Farron wondered what Fang was thinking in that moment...what she thought of her. Perhaps she was experiencing the same sort of salacious slide-show in her own mind's eye; maybe she had seen this before, in dreams (by night or by day), only to find herself duped, staring into an apparition of Lightning that dissipated with the realisation.

Yes...the soldier was convinced that that's what she'd believe when she looked back to the doorway to find Lightning no longer there.

* * *

><p>The thunder had stopped an hour or two later, but the rain was still lashing down heavily. Standing by the patio doors, Light used a finger to trace the path of a raindrop on its descent to the ground. She used to do this with Serah when they were younger – it always made her sister laugh. They'd sit in front of their window, racing their chosen raindrops down the glass. She always knew how to win, by selecting the heavier drops that moved faster with the momentum - but she never let on. Light always let Serah win, to make her happy. They hadn't played the game since their father had died. That was the rainiest Winter she could ever remember.<p>

"Can't sleep?" She had thought Fang would be asleep by now; lost in a world beyond Lightning's touch. That's what she had thought, but somehow, instinctually, she was not surprised to find the Pulsian here, sashaying towards her with a gentle smile across her lips. The soldier frowned into the glass, a little apprehensive of where this discussion might lead; she said nothing – for surely her standing here answered Fang's question already.

"Mm...me neither," Fang continued regardless, joining Light at the doors but opposite her, leaning against them casually with her arms folded across her chest loosely. Light watched her in her periphery, felt her primal gaze creeping along her skin...

"The storm's died down now," she said quietly, still refusing to fully countenance the Oerban's presence.

"Yeah, I know...but you know what it's like...once you're awake n' thinkin' about stuff..."

"Hmm." Yes, yes she did.

"I never said it before, but...thanks." That confused her, furrowed her brow, tilted her head to look at her properly.

"What for?"

"Gettin' Vanille home. Guess I feel it shoulda been me doin' what you did."

"Oh..." Farron replied, averting her eyes once more. "Don't worry about it, it's nothing."

Fang snorted. "No it's not. I know what she's like in that state; know how tired you musta been after work; I know this place ain't even on the same road to yours and I know you probably didn't want to see...well...see anyone."

Light tilted her head towards her again, a smirk cutting the corner of her mouth. "Am I that transparent?"

The Pulsian chuckled lightly, raising her brows briefly and lowering them again. She always looked so animated, so _alive_. Her expressions always flickered or burned fiercely...just like camp fire. "Not nearly," she retorted before glancing away and staring out at the night.

"You care about her so much," Light said, curious if that sounded as ruminative as she felt, and made her way to down at one end of the couch on top of the blanket Fang had given her.

"Yeah. Guess I do," the huntress shrugged, watching Farron move in the ashen light. "That's not to say she don't drive me up the wall sometimes too, though. Got me into a fair few scraps, so she has." Light watched her shift her weight on her hips as she turned to face her once more. Without her sari draped around her waist, the soldier could make out the subtle grooves defining the muscles in her thighs; those powerful thighs that spoke of her profession. "It's her fault I'm scared of the storms, y'know?"

"How come?"

"Somethin' that happened when we were kids. The weather was right bad one season; didn't stop rainin' for a bloody month. Got so bad that the village flooded – I tell ya, Light, I've never seen waves get so big. The carers thought we'd be alright in the orphanage, being further in n' all, but that was wishful thinkin' if I ever heard it. One night, during a storm, the flood barriers broke and we had to get outta there."

Fang began to pace between the doors and the middle of the room before Lightning; she didn't appear agitated, but there was a tenseness about her that the soldier was not comfortable witnessing.

"I don't know how old we were – but I remember only comin' up to my carer's waist. Vanille, she was shorter than me – I remember that 'cause she was always askin' me to get things from the cupboards for her. Anyway...we all got out safely, but everythin' was so noisy, so confusin'. People were runnin' all over the place – some buildings had caught fire from the lightnin' and everyone was panickin' because they were gettin' stuck in the thick mud the water had made. I told Vanille not to let go of my hand but...I dunno what happened...I guess she got too scared...she was there one minute and gone the next."

"I screamed her name, but all the other kids were pushin' and shovin' me to move. That got me mad – I remember shovin' one down in the mud as I cut through 'em all, tryin' to find her. The rain kept hammering down, gettin' in my eyes – it made it damn hard to see. I couldn't find her anywhere, but then I remembered where she'd always hide when she got scared in the orphanage."

Light was looking a little incredulous when she asked, "So you went back there?"

Fang nodded. "Yeah, I did. Climbed through the upper window; found her in the cupboard underneath the sink." She laughed through her nose once and shook her head, before continuing. "I was real angry with her, so I just tugged her out n' threw her over my shoulder. She was bawlin' her eyes out...I think I heard her screamin' for her mum. I dunno. I was too scared to notice, really. The water was comin' up the stairs so I turned back with her, to make it out the window but a bolt of lightin' must have hit one of the communication transmitters 'cause it fell down in flames, blocking my way out."

"I didn't know what to do; thought I was gonna die there, y'know? Thought _she_ was gonna die there...I hated myself for bein' so afraid. Each loud crack was makin' me jump, each flash of light I saw make me curl even more into myself in the corner of that room, with Vanille clingin' onto me like I was gonna save her or somethin'..." The Pulsian laughed bitterly at that, stopping abruptly at tilting her head to the ceiling for some reason. "I don't know who it was that ripped that part of the roof off and dragged us outta there. He was in uniform, so I guess it was his job...savin' lives."

"I think Vanille still has bad dreams about it. She says she don't really remember it, but she's always tryin' to protect my feelings, so I don't believe her." Fang heaved a sigh before returning her attention to Lightning and continuing in a tone renewed with vigour. "So yeah...there's my upliftin' tale of heroics for you. Nobody's perfect, I guess, right?"

Light nodded in agreement, standing from the couch and making her way to the glass doors once more. "Right." She watched the faint outline of the outside tree lean this way then that in the gale, bending to nature, but never quite breaking. How far down did its roots grow? How long had been there, battling against forces almost impossible to withstand? Such strength she had come to respect in her familiars – in Fang, above all. Born of different worlds they might be...but in some ways, they were not all that different at all.

"Thanks for telling me that," she added over her shoulder, noticing Fang take a seat on the other end of the couch.

"Hey, it's no problem. I think I can trust ya with it."

Light scowled at her nonchalance as she turned around to face her properly. "You_ think_?"

"Hmm...alright, then I _know_."

The soldier held that furrow between her brows as she closed the distance between them and sat at her end of the couch, posture perfect and hands in her lap. "How do you know?" she asked, craning her neck towards the Pulsian and narrowing her eyes in curiosity.

"I dunno...just a feelin' I got." Fang paused, as if she were trying to read Light's expression for her reaction to that. Clearly having noticed none, she continued. "You can trust me too, Light. You know that, yeah?"

Light's eyes shifted between the Oerban's eyes and lips more than once, observing how her left eye narrowed slightly more than the right when she smiled. She wondered how many people noticed that about her – how many felt their heart seize up like hers did in her presence. Light blinked slowly and tore her eyes away before her desires could be evidenced in her hitched breathing. "I haven't made my mind up about you yet," she frowned, vaguely aware of how the woman's shoulders sunk slightly, just like her smile.

"Well...that's okay," she heard her say in a surprisingly upbeat tone. "I got time."

Light exhaled slowly, utterly frustrated with her - this woman; her beautiful, passionate, understanding friend; the one staring at her right now with such adulation – as if she had been the one to pull her out of that flooding building all those years ago. Her feelings made no sense – where had they even come from? Fang deserved more than what she had to offer; more than the confusion, the hurt feelings, the irritation she had been causing her up until now.

"Why are you so interested in me?" the soldier asked, the clarity in her voice giving way to the underlying perturbation. She shook her head softly, but didn't dare look at Fang; she couldn't risk slipping up, losing herself in those eyes again.

Fang was quiet for a moment; still, like this room that held so many unspoken feelings within its four walls; walls that seemed to leer at her and close in as the Pulsian sighed and spoke her next words.

"I'm interested 'cause...I care about you, Lightnin'...a lot more than I'm supposed to. I don't know how you're feelin' – I never know...and that's what kills me. Everythin' about you is bringin' me misery...but...I don't mind it...that's what scares me. The things I find myself doin', thinkin', _feelin'_...I don't recognise myself no more." She paused at that point, moved closer to the soldier who was sitting forward on the edge of her seat, gaze fixed ahead, focussing on the darkness. "You're so bloody hard to read you know, so stubborn...but I _want_ to get you. I want to understand. And I'm willin' to wait it out till you're ready to see that."

Light had no words to match her feelings: nothing would be adequate, or could convey the currents of emotion swelling within her at that moment. The relief, a tenderness, an ache and a burning, burning need for her...they were all there as Fang leaned in and settled her head on her shoulder, nuzzling at it softly and expelling delicate breaths like whispers along her collarbone. The strength of her desire was present in that strip of moisture along her shorts...in the saccharine scent that cut through the spice of the room. But it was something else that night that would betray her pretence for Fang...

"Your heart is _racin'_ Light..." was the last thing she heard Fang mumble, before her inhalations grew deeper, her head became that little bit heavier.

"I know," she whispered, slipping an arm around the Oerban's lithesome form and using the other to throw the blanket over Fang.

One action to keep her warm; the other, to see her safe from the storm.


	6. this charming man

_A/N_

_Time to give this story a kick-start. Thanks to all who are sticking with it. Just a short one to get the plot flowing and updates should be a little more regular than they have been. Reviews and PMs welcomed. _

* * *

><p><em>Astronautalis – The Wondersmith and his Sons<em>

_vi. This Charming Man._

_A smile safe-cracker's understand is rendering this steady hand obsolete_

_The charm and confidence of men can jam the bullets in your gun_

_And stop heartbeats._

The height of the vast crystalline windows arced around the nose of the chamber, diminishing his form in the orange glow penetrating the morning sky. From a distance, his chiselled silhouette resembled a bust of some austere military leader, standing firm before his purview on the precipice of war; but there was a revelation that came with closer inspection that showed just a flicker of unease in the man's resolve. Hands clasped tightly behind his back, his broad shoulders wore the cut of his suit well – sharp, expensive – and the crispness of his shirt matched the icy demeanour and expression etched upon his face.

Staring through his phantasmal reflection, Angelo Pontini's mind weaved and wandered; so many plans were now in motion, there were so many possible outcomes to account for: the uncertainty of it all weighed heavily behind his eyes, causing the knot in his brows above the bridge of his nose. There was no longer any place left for doubt in his life; no room for indecision or hesitation. He could not allow such mortal afflictions to interfere with his plans, to interrupt the sequence of events he had set in motion; a decision had been made – his own, he was sure – and at once he was consumed by the intoxication of his zeal. Pontini was a man of the world – and he, above all else, understood what it meant to sacrifice.

_A boy runs through the waist-high crops; the corn hisses and crunches underneath his footfalls. The stalks whip his bare legs – it stings, but he can't stop, can't stop. His mouth is so dry; his heart beats in his throat; what is causing that ringing in his ears? It's deafens him, disorientates. He reaches behind awkwardly, tugs the arm of his companion to hurry up, to keep moving! She's a lot slower than he is and keeps stopping to glance behind. She's younger so doesn't understand the danger that they're in. Her fear stems from this panic alone. Damnit, they're gaining! Must. Move. Faster! He picks up his pace, shouting at her to hurry. The grip on her arm is as strong as his heartbeat...his will to survive. There's a gully ahead that will shelter them from the gunfire, but they have to reach it first. _MOVE!_ He charges forward, somehow losing her wrist in the movement. He looks around to find her in the ditch but she's nowhere to be seen. Where has she gone? She was just here a minute ago! He leans out from his cover, finding her in the baking earth. She's sobbing to herself, looking lost, afraid. Get up. Get up. You have to get up! He hears her whining his name, she needs him to help her. He feels the dry heat in his throat; only now tastes the iron flooding his mouth. They're aiming their weapons now, drawing a bead. GET UP! GET UP NOW! She continues to whimper...his name shapes the distance between them. He could make it, maybe, if he hurries. If he just, just—_

"Sire." A polished tone clipped across Pontini's thoughts, yanking him from his vivid reverie. He noted the nervous pause of his aide, detecting the hesitation in his tone before continuing. How odd, he thought to himself, that even his closest of advisors displayed such trepidation; he was a just man, reasonable, for sure...was his presence so intimidating, so powerful? He was a reputable businessman these days, respected and popular for his good deeds and charitable work. His charm closed the toughest of deals and won the hearts of many a beautiful woman. Yet still, that unfavourable quality lingered, stalking him from his previous life. Sin, it seemed, was a stench one could not just wash off; perhaps nothing could purge him of this ruthlessness that seemed ingrained in his soul...but how odd a circumstance it was for something like that to bother him.

"Forgive my intrusion," he continued, that aged quality lending sincerity to his words, "but your guests have arrived. They are waiting in the ante-room. Shall I show them in?"

Pontini drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose to regain his composure. It would not do to expose any of his inner turmoil, no matter how distant that pain was for him now. Memory, it seemed, was his sole tie to the man that he once was; a past that he had laboured to leave behind in the dirt – with her. Betrayal is what he felt when his mind turned to those thoughts and bitter resentment simmered within his chest when he recognised this trespass on his ghosts of the past. He should be stronger than this.

"I will see them now, yes," Pontini replied, finally turning in the golden haze that smothered his features in the sunlight. He watched his aide incline his head in a gesture of respect before making his way along the length of the room and leaving to retrieve the visitors.

The gentle thud of the closing door echoed through the chamber, echoed though his head; the businessman was once again alone with his thoughts. He strolled over to his large mahogany desk, running his fingers along its smooth finish on his way to the chair tucked underneath. Nobody crafted like this anymore he mused as he lowered himself into his seat that had been designed to mesh perfectly with the suite; the furniture was expensive – unique; ironically it was this individuality that made it fit in seamlessly with the feel of the entire tower block.

This building was one of many Pontini could now call his own but it also served as the headquarters to his business empire, housing hundreds of offices behind its dark reflective exterior. Its anachronistic design and prime location looming over the Financial district had earned it an appellation amongst the citizens of Bodhum, who referred to it simply as Cathedral; an apt name, he had decided. It was powerful, pervasive...just like his slowly expanding powerbase. He wanted to return to the populace that sense of security that had been lost in the passing years, to replace that chaos with a strong leadership to govern the city back to its previous glory. Bodhum needed a saviour, someone to champion this rehabilitation. Pontini couldn't help but feel a sense of the divine in his work; a duty to usher in a new era of greatness.

His brief contemplation was disturbed by the clapping of heels against the cool stone floor. Their pace – even and rhythmic – demystified the identity of their owners by sound alone. Shifting his gaze ahead, his eyes fell on his two expected guests who strode toward him with far more confidence than any of the staff that worked here would ever display. There was an air of superiority about them as they came to a stop before his desk, but one that was clearly subsumed by an overwhelming respect for the man; and their humility showed in their faces.

"Please, sit," Pontini said, gesturing to the chairs accompanying the far side of the desk. As the pair complied, he sat forward, pouring hot water into his tea cup and let the steam subside before returning his attention to his guests. "You have both been quite absent of late," Pontini pointed out, wasting little time with small talk and loading his tea with sugar lump after sugar lump. The couple stared at this process, but not out of confusion; they understood the behaviour by now, and had no reason to question it. "Such avoidance could hurt a father's feelings," he continued a little more playfully, stirring the tea and resting the spoon on the saucer with a light clink. "Or perhaps it's my curiosity getting the better of me. I'm only human, after all...and it is a father's prerogative to interfere, no?"

With a thin smile, he sat back in his high-back chair and linked his fingers across his stomach, regarding his children with keen appraisal. His son was aging faster than he should for a man of his years – something emphasised by the severe expression he wore. His father knew he had inherited that from him; it was the same look he adorned when he was deep in thought and unaware of his features. His daughter was never that serious, not nearly. She found too much enjoyment in the lifestyle in which she had been raised, and had learned to internalise any negativity when occasion called for such deception. That trait, too, she had learned from him, and along with her ambitious nature formed the only real likeness between the two. She resembled nothing of him, physically, and everything of her mother. He had decided long ago that there was too much of_ her_ in his daughter's face.

"There have been...complications, father. Nothing serious, but they _have_ caused delay." Yan shifted slightly in his seat, as if in hopes the movement might distract his father from what he had just divulged. Pontini knew that it was not nerves that had him wriggling under his attention like that; his son had forever sought his approval, in anything that he pursued, and to his father's delight, Yan had always set very high expectations of himself. To admit to any sort failure or inadequacy was very difficult for the young man, but Pontini had encouraged that attitude from a very young age. Among his greatest hopes was to inspire within his son the same drive for perfection to which he held himself to and for this reason, he had chosen to never coddle the boy.

"I believe," Pontini began, taking a sip of his tea and replacing the cup on its saucer, "that those complications will not be hindering you for much longer. I have taken steps to ensure this."

The moment of confusion induced by Pontini's comment was swiftly followed by an icy realisation.

"Wait," Yan said, straightening his spine. "What do you mean 'they won't be hindering us?' How could you know what we're referring to here?"

Pontini chose to keep his mystery, electing to take another sip of his tea while his son dragged his feet to his conclusion.

"Oh, of course," Yan sneered, taking in his father's nonchalance, "you just couldn't help but interfere, could you? What did you do, hm? Hire some twits to follow us around and keep you abreast of what was happening? What?" The businessman watched him rise from his seat and stride to the window, shaking his head with his irritation. The presiding fault he perceived in his son was his short temper, his impatience. That was his mother's gift, surely – not his. Whilst he understood his son's self-scorn for his failure, he could not deny that he found such outbursts anything but unpalatable.

"You do seem terribly vexed, my boy." Pontini raised his head to the young man and scowled through the sunlight blinding one of his eyes. "Are my actions so surprising? I have a lot invested in you, in _both_ of you. I can't afford to risk trivialities such as..._complications_. Perhaps you fail to comprehend the scale of what is at stake? Either way, I did what had to be done. I do not blame you for your shortcomings."

"Our...short..." Yan's disbelief caught in his throat, cutting his outburst short. "_You _are the one who insisted that we must prove ourselves to you, to show you that we can handle the companies' affairs. How do you expect us to demonstrate our ability when you interfere at the slightest hint of trouble? Do you even appreciate the levels of secrecy we've had to maintain for this project; the intricacy involved in order to cover our tracks? I can't believe you could just shut us down like that. Months of work, father. Months! Is your faith in us really so poor?"

"Oh, do stop, Yan," Pippa interrupted irritably, throwing him a glance askance. "Your incessant whining is hurting my head. Father did what he thought was best. Show some humility." Pippa glared at her brother who had since ceased his pacing, but kept his jaw clenched in an effort to silence his ire. Pontini allowed the pair a moment to collect themselves, watching his son grunt through his nose before grudgingly retaking his place by his sister's side; the father had been aware of his daughter's unique handling of Yan from an early age. Though a mere handful of years separated them, she still commanded his respect, be it with a simple gesture, or blunt instruction. Meeting her gaze, he recognised a flash of smugness in her eyes; he wasn't entirely sure why but it made him want to grin.

"You have a strong heart, my boy...but I fear you use it to think too often." Sighing, he shifted his gaze to Yan; his pouting son who held his attention from under his thick eyebrows. "I act only to secure our end – no matter the cost. Your contributions to this project are vital...but lacking. You will continue to perform admirably, whether I see it necessary to support you or not. Is that clear?"

Obedience reigned in the corner of his eye, catching sight as he did of Pippa's nodding head; that contrasted sharply with the stillness of son, who still held his gaze in his silent defiance.

"You are either with me or you are not, Yan," Pontini reasoned, sitting forward a little in his chair and ignoring the way the sunlight hitting the dust flecks gave him the impression that his son had an aura. "Can I count on my son's support during this period of...transition? " He raised his eyebrows to beckon a response from the young man, who was clearly beginning to feel foolish under the inspection of his family.

"It is clear, father," Yan replied finally, obliging his father's gesture. "We should welcome your assistance, you're right. I...apologise."

"Ah," Pontini intoned, bringing the palms of his hands down on the arms of his chair with a light slap. "Forgotten," he smiled, before bringing his hands together in a clap and rubbing them together gently. "Now, what of our friends? I am so eager to hear of your progress."

Yan snorted derisively. "We are wasting our time with them, if you want my honest opinion. They are just a bunch of has-beens! One works in a bar of all places, the older Pulsian. Really father, what trouble can they cause?"

Pontini did not address his concerns immediately, instead directing his attention to his daughter who had remained uncharacteristically quiet all this time. "Pippa, my dear, what have you to say about this?"

The woman settled back in her chair, crossing her slender legs and taking a moment to collect her thoughts. Outside, the morning traffic roared distantly, sounding more like a surging tide than the orchestra of engines purring at one another. "They are an unusual lot; the..." Pippa couldn't help but chuckle at the descriptor, "'freedom fighter', Snow...he has little interest in Bodhum's current affairs. From what I gathered from our dinner together, he and his fiancée are having...how should we say it? Growing pains? Needless to say, he has other priorities than to involve himself in our affairs. The redhead is pretty and dumb – frankly I'm mystified Yan struck out with her. They have so much in common." Pippa regarded her brother in her periphery vision, finding a smirk cutting the corner of her mouth as she watched him open his mouth to respond.

"—Pippa..." Pontini warned, cutting in before Yan because he had no interest in mediating another sibling squabble. "If you could keep your disparaging remarks to yourself, thank you..."

"Sorry, father, " Pippa giggled. "I'll try. As for Oerba Yun Fang...she seemed more than receptive to my...talents..."

"Yes...?"

"_Seemed_ being the operative word," Yan pointed out helpfully, earning an icy glare from his sister.

"Yes, _seemed_," Pippa carried on undeterred. "The soldier was clearly bothered by my interactions with her and whenever she noticed that, conversation with her became...frustrating. She was really quite distracted. I can't explain it. Even after Farron left, all I was getting from the Pulsian was a tameness she hadn't been showing before. It was as if I didn't even exist for her anymore. Rather insulting really, considering the boorish way Farron had been acting. I'm not quite sure what she sees in her, myself."

"You don't need to," Pontini reminded her, stiffening upon hearing the news, his voice adopting a more authoritative timbre. "You courtships serve one purpose – they are nothing but a tool, a device. I don't care what you have to do, or how you do it, but you will see to it that that purpose if fulfilled, understood? Too much is resting on this and it is something that I can trust no one else to undertake. Get them to where I need them to be; I shall take care of the rest."

If he was honest with himself, Pontini had not expected this part of his plan to throw up much difficulty. Nothing in the ex-L'Cie's dossiers made mention of romantic attachment beyond that of Snow Villiers' – and he was of little consequence, alone. Following their dismissal, he watched his children leave and considered their appeal: each had their own unique brand of charm, of grace. Bolstered by the quality of their genes and intellect, he concluded that they were more than capable of completing the task set before them.

To use the love of another to further one's goals...there was certainly no moral ambivalence about the act; no one could judge it so. But for a man of his principals, his history and ambition, the wrongness of it all seemed muted and distant; voices reaching out to him from a plane he had once to belong. He shook them from his mind, purged their treachery and with spirit renewed, closed his senses off to doubt, finding succour in his blind obedience to his zeal.

The one sentiment he treasured from his past, the sole tenant that he clinged to from his previous existence was this...

That all was fair in love...and war.


End file.
